


Hell or Glory

by tessagray_herondale_carstairs



Series: Hell or Glory [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, At the very end tho don't worry, But mostly angst, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, GOD IM SO SORRY, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining Keith (Voltron), Pining Lance (Voltron), Police Officer AU, Self Confidence Issues, Slow Burn, don't call space cps on me please, i love my space children i swear, my space children i love them, slight gore, this is like pure angst and im so sorry, you guys holy shit this is the longest fic i've ever written
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-18
Updated: 2017-03-02
Packaged: 2018-09-25 07:12:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 14
Words: 49,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9808703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tessagray_herondale_carstairs/pseuds/tessagray_herondale_carstairs
Summary: Lance and Hunk are the ideal detective duo. Hunk is cautious and will ask questions and write down the answers. Lance will careen his way through an interview and recall one crucial sentence that immediately puts the rest of the case together. It works for them. Until Captain Allura decides to throw a new guy on their biggest case-- Keith Kogane-- and everything completely and utterly goes to shit. When the situation is dire, Lance and Keith have to put aside their differences and work together before time runs out. They just might pull it off, if Lance would stop antagonizing the one person who's supposed to be helping him and his best friend.





	1. Life's just a pay stub on death

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone! This is my first Voltron fic and it's a real doozy. S/o to the [Big Bang team](voltronbigbang.tumblr.com) they've done such amazing things throughout this journey and I'm so appreciative. 
> 
> First artist's work is the title piece done by [Mieu](http://mieudiary.tumblr.com/post/157361494831/artwork-contribute-for-voltronbigbang-klance-fic) and honestly!!!! I'm crying it's so good!!!!!!!!!! Go look at it, I love it so much! 
> 
> Beta credit goes to [Criss](http://cryptidcriss.tumblr.com/) and any mistakes left over are my own. Send Criss some cool pictures of owls because that's the best reward for being an excellent beta, true or true?
> 
> Title from Fall Out Boy's She's My Winona, because I was listening to it and because it really fits?? All chapter titles are gonna be lines from that song too.

Lance didn’t want to brag, but he was good at his job. He was _really_ good at it. Great at it. _Excellent_ at it, even. Solving crimes just came so naturally to him like nothing ever had, and he knew it. Hunk used to say it was because Lance had grown up with so many siblings‒ the constant thieving of his personal belongings made him more observant than he first appeared. If he was going to survive winter, what with all of his hoodies and jackets being stolen by his sisters, who favored the boyfriend trends of style, then he had better start watching out, Lance figured out early on. Besides his attention to detail, his outwardly languid and extroverted personality made him easy to talk to, allowed the person to drop their guard assuming he wouldn’t notice, but his sharp eye made him a force to be reckoned with.

When he was actually trying, that is.

“Lance.” Hunk cleared his throat. The boy beside him didn't budge. “Lance! What are you _doing?”_

Lance jumped guiltily and almost dropped the magazine he’d been holding‒ Hunk didn't feel at all bad about sneaking a peek at the article; it seemed Lance was really interested _Amp Up Your Face Mask: Common Household Items!_ “Just, uh…” Lance said, stalling. “Just, solving this case. You know. The uzhe.” He leaned against the wall in an attempt to look more casual, his finger carefully holding the magazine open at the page he’d been reading, belying his words.

Hunk rolled his eyes, clearly not as convinced as Lance hoped. “Can you please go interview the other witness while I finish up here, then?” His gaze dropped pointedly to the magazine.

Lance sighed, setting it down reluctantly before taking out his tiny notepad and heading over to the other side of the room. “Nobody ever lets me have fun around here,” he said, pouting slightly.

“Lance,” Hunk repeated sternly, shooting a dazzling smile at the woman in front of him in an effort to get her to ignore Lance’s casual approach to their case.

Lance waved his hand in a lackadaisical manner. “Yeah, yeah, I’m going, I’m going.” He also gave the witness a sweet smile, switching gears so quickly Hunk almost believed Lance had been 100% invested from the start.

* * *

Hunk’s favorite part of the job was interviewing people. In general, he loved getting to know them, what they did that day at what time, even if it was all leading up to something horrible. In work, Hunk still loved listening to people and understanding how the crime had affected them, which is why being Lance’s partner was no struggle for him at all. Lance barely had enough attention for the summary of a case, let alone however many witnesses it took to solve one. Hunk was the one who did most of the interviews, cobbled it together into one seamless reel, and let Lance do the detecting. It was a partnership that worked for both of them and utilized their strengths and weaknesses all in one go.

This of course meant that Lance was often left alone during the interviewing process, and more than once he’d had to stop the witness and gently remind Lance that he was absolutely not allowed to go poking and prodding through the neighbor’s garbage or climbing out onto the window ledge to test a theory about windfall and pigeon poop, at least not without a warrant and a better reason than _Pidge dared me to find out_. Hunk smiled to himself as the current witness recounted a fascinating story about her neighbors wearing funny contacts at night to make her laugh. The warrants part was added because more than a dozen cases had been solved thanks to Lance’s tendency to explore and interact with everything he came into contact with, but all of the evidence was just _barely_ legally admissible. With a warrant, Lance could test any theory and they could submit it during trial.

Without one… well, they’d had a couple close calls.

And still, Hunk missed the old days of Garrison Academy, when everything was simpler and the cases were always solvable because your teachers had the answers. Where Lance didn’t feel burdened to prove himself‒ he always proved himself anyway, because that was his nature, but there was no _burden_ to prove anything to anyone. Where Hunk had learned some of his most amazing recipes, and studied some of the most amazing science he would ever know, but had ultimately chosen the same field of study as his best friend. Hunk missed the carefree days and the antics they had shared. He missed the carefree way they had both used to be.

But then again, Hunk thought, he only knew about that one farmer’s market because he’d wanted more adult food to go with his more adult one-bedroom apartment. So maybe growing up hadn’t been all that bad.

* * *

After the interviews, Lance bolted out of the room so fast that Hunk barely had time to utter a bewildered “hey!” before he’d also been dragged out along with him. As Hunk entered the car, Lance slid into the driver’s seat, buzzed on something akin to adrenaline yet unique to Lance alone. “Hunk, I‒”

He interrupted. “Hey, hold on, how come I never get to drive?” Hunk bumped his head on the car roof and he rubbed it gingerly.

Lance ignored his cry of pain.  “Because you never get in the driver’s seat. If you get in the seat, then you can drive. Squad rules.”

Hunk huffed. “It’s only ever squad rules when you manage to hit the seat first. Fine, but I call dibs on the next drive, okay?” That was a lie. Lance always took the keys, made it to the car first, requested the car‒ anything to have a reason why he was the one driving. It wasn’t that Hunk minded, just that he would’ve preferred a less dangerous mode of transportation.

Lance smirked. “Sure thing, buddy. But listen, I talked to that one witness, right? And she said the same thing that all the witnesses on the last three cases, and on this one, have said.”

It was no surprise that Hunk immediately jumped onto Lance’s train of thought. His eyes widened so much that Lance wondered if he could see all the way to Hunk’s brain. He immediately dismissed that thought as _Too Gross But Still Vaguely Interesting_.  “Lance, this is getting a little too coincidental.”

“Hunk, buddy, we left coincidental and hit straight into ‘this is a trap’ territory.”

“It’s just been so long that I can’t believe it…” Hunk murmured.

“Believe it,” Lance said dramatically. “Purple hair, weirdly gold eyes, the whole shebang.” He put the car in gear and backed out of the space.

Minutes of silence passed and then: “Do you think it’s the Galra?” Hunk had to ask, just to confirm, yet again, that it was indeed the case they’ve been chasing.

Lance snorted. “It’s either the Galra or a gang with the shittiest colors using the same M.O. Personally, I’m gonna go with Galra. Only problem is it wasn’t happening to her, she’d just heard it was happening around that area. Guess that’s what happens when you’re not the favored one.” Lance’s voice held a slight bitterness on his last few words, but Hunk’s head was still reeling and he didn’t bother to dwell on it. Instead he watched Lance rhythmically tap his fingers on the wheel. Anxiety had never been a friend to Lance, and now he had it in spades. Unable to pace back and forth, he tapped his fingers, jiggled his legs, did all things that annoyed everyone around him, but allowed Lance to keep his emotions in check. At least for a little while.  

“Shit,” Hunk said. “Shiro’s going to kill us for not realizing it sooner.”

Lance’s hands tightened imperceptibly, all tapping and movement ceasing instantly, but his body continuing to move in other ways. His forehead creased and a frown appeared on his normally smooth face. The jiggling began again, twice as roughly and thrice as frenetically. “Not unless Allura gets to us first.”

* * *

Just to clarify, the fuck-up wasn’t Lance’s fault. The Galra have been a menace in their city for a while now, and it totally wasn’t his fault that the one day they had a hot lead, Lance just happened to drink a little too much that night and talk a little too loudly in a crowded bar and tip the Galra off on their location for the scheduled raid. He’d tried not to screw it up, but it all came crashing down anyway. What was he supposed to do, turn down Pidge’s shots challenge? That went against everything Lance believed in; his competitive nature just wouldn’t allow that.

Okay, so maybe it was his fault.

Lance didn’t give a shit about what everyone said from that night on. His mother had always said that people’s opinions and judgments didn’t change who you were on the inside, and Lance was taking that to heart. No, what really bothered him was how everyone treated Hunk, just because he was Lance’s partner. Lance hated that. Hate him, fine, he could deal with it in silence, but to give Hunk dirty looks for something out of his control? It made Lance’s blood run hot, red rivulets of anger burning and pulsing with every breath he took. Hunk always laughed it off, but Lance knew it secretly worried him. If Lance couldn’t be trusted, how could anyone trust Hunk? But Hunk had never said anything out loud to him, and Lance was too ashamed to bring it up, so they both went on as if nothing had ever happened, which‒ _thanks to me_ , Lance thought sourly‒ nothing ever had.

Definitely his fault.

After the debriefing with Captain Allura, Lieutenant Coran, and Sergeant Shirogane in the conference room‒ something Lance never wanted to repeat, no matter what, because all three of them had commanding presences on their own; all three in the same room just overwhelmed him entirely‒ the Galra case was put on high priority. It hadn’t _not_ been high priority, rather just something they worked on whenever they had spare time unless they had a lead, but now Lance and Hunk were given the case to solely work on during the day. All other detectives would handle the various menial crimes, while the two of them worked the one case that had plagued them since the beginning of their rookie days. They’d seen it from the burgeoning beginning, and they would see it until its grisly end.

Lance should’ve guessed, from the way Allura’s eyes narrowed and looks passed from her to Coran to Shiro in the meeting to the case becoming of the highest priority to it being given to _him_ , of all people, the same person who fucked up the one lead they’d had on it, that something else was going to happen. Something that would send the precinct spiralling into new and totally different depths.

But for all of his great observational skills, Lance couldn’t have seen this coming.

No one could have.


	2. Only less diligent

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leo really wanted the next chapter and so did some other people so???? here it is!!! thank u for reading i love u all
> 
> Art credit for this chapter goes to [Bella](https://cinnarollin.tumblr.com/post/157383192177/keith-pivoted-and-placed-his-hands-on-alluras) and it's!!! so!!! good!!!!

Lance was relaxing, hands behind his head, feet propped on the desk, both eyes shut while waiting for Hunk to come back from picking up food for lunch, when Allura ruined his day, his _life_ , so completely.

“All of you, please pay attention, I have an announcement! This,” she said, gesturing to the man at her right, “is Keith Kogane.” A quiet smattering of voices ran through the room, a babble of surprise and judgment, and Lance peeked open one eye to study the man thoughtfully. The dude looked slightly shorter than him, Lance surmised, broad shoulders for the kind of small body he was rocking, a lithe frame that Lance just _knew_ was hiding muscles, and he had a… was that a mullet? _It was a mullet_. Lance hid his snickering behind his hand, but it was too loud anyway. The volume of it had caught attention and Allura zeroed in on him, eyes narrowed sharply. “I’m very pleased you’re so excited about him, Lance, because from now on, he’s your new partner!” She nudged Keith in Lance’s direction, so sharply that the mulleted-man stumbled a bit before catching himself of the edge of a desk.

Lance’s jaw dropped, and he definitely heard Hunk’s coffee mug shatter on the floor. He wasn’t sure when Hunk had come in, but clearly he’d caught the last part of Allura’s words. “Wait a second, Allura,” he said, hastily taking his feet off his desk. “I already have a partner! The greatest partner! The best partner!” He motioned at Hunk wildly, doing his best to stifle the incredible groan that was building. If he had just been _quieter._..

Allura said firmly, “And now you have a third. He’s here to help on the Galra case.”

“The‒the _Galra_ case? Allura, that’s our biggest one! I can’t have some set-in-his-ways detective getting his mitts all over it!” Lance’s voice rose and fell in pitch hysterically. His hands were clammy and cold. This could _not_ be happening, not when it was their biggest case! Lance had so much to prove from this and adding in a partner who didn’t _understand_ anything about how Hunk and Lance operated and, and… Lance could feel his blood pressure rising, a rush in his ears, his failures colliding into him with a force that left him bleeding. _This could not be happening_.

“Keith isn’t set in his ways, Lance,” Allura said, looking miffed and displeased all at once. Lance felt bad‒ it was his fault she was on the spot now‒ but not bad enough to stop. He didn’t need to babysit someone while working the toughest case he’d come across. “He‒ Well, he’s new enough to adapt, but old enough that he knows what he’s doing, okay? He’ll be fresh eyes for your big case.”

“A rookie.”

“I didn’t say he was a rookie,” Allura protested. Her face felt like it was burning, but luckily the dark color of her skin hid it well. She would’ve wasted time wondering how Lance could possibly have known, but then again… he wasn’t her best detective for nothing. The colossal mistakes he made were a small price to pay for the cases he’d solved. Keith, on the other hand, threw the dirtiest look at Lance. If looks could kill, Lance would’ve been dead just at the mullet sighting alone.

Ignoring the glare, he tossed out another retort. “You’re giving us a rookie! On our _biggest_ case!”

“Lance.”

Lance struggled to quiet his voice to a regular, adult discussion level. Volume control had always been impossible for him especially in times of stress. What was he supposed to do, focus on volume _when a serious situation was happening?_ “You’re giving us a rookie on our biggest case.”

The burning in her cheeks finally cooling, Allura nodded, satisfied with Lance’s changed volume. “And I expect you all to be nice to each other, and cooperate on this case.” She grabbed Lance’s ear, dragging him up to be level with her mouth. “If I hear a single word about you excluding him, when I am giving you explicit orders to work with him, I will have your badge on my desk so fast you won’t even be able to wonder where it went. Got it?” Without waiting for an answer, Allura let go and strode into her office, slamming the door behind her.

* * *

Keith stared at the scene that had unfolded, and his apparent new partners: a skinny man, slightly taller than him, Keith noticed, but what could you do, rubbing his ear and staring at Allura’s office, an overly dramatic hurt look on his face; a bulkier guy with an orange headband and extremely intimidating arm muscles trying not to laugh at the skinny guy.

“Hunk!” The skinny one cried after Orange Headband couldn’t resist and finally went into hysterics. “You’re supposed to be on _my side!”_

“Sorry, man,” Hunk said, “but Allura totally just whipped you.” He burst into fresh laughter, wiping the tears from his eyes and doing his best to smother the oncoming laughs.  

Suddenly Lance noticed Keith staring at him. He was about to say something totally welcoming, he swore, but instead Keith’s haircut caught his eye again. And of course, it went against everything Lance believed in to let it slide and be chill, so he threw all of his fucks into the wind, and put a podiatrist on speed dial because his foot was going in his mouth.

“Dude,” he said, staring down at Keith, slightly smug that he was, in fact, taller, even by just an inch or two. “You’ve got a fucking mullet. A mullet. What year is it, 1983? You can’t have a mullet now. What the fuck, dude?”

Keith grabbed the end strands of his hair, slightly self conscious and hating that this guy could make him feel that way so quickly. They didn’t even know each other! His hurt quickly gave way to anger. “It’s not a mullet,” he said to Lance, trying to hide the way his anger was building. “I’ll have my hair however I want to; it’s none of your business.” He hoped that would be enough to quell whoever the fuck this guy was. Shiro had made Keith swear he wouldn’t start any fights in this job and Keith really hated that disappointed face Shiro made whenever Keith fucked something up.

Lance shook his head. “There’s no way I’m working with a guy who has a _mullet_ ,” he mumbled under his breath, turning to face the big guy near him. “Hunk,” he commanded, his voice deepening dramatically, “the Galra case file.” Hunk slapped the file into his hands, moving to store the recently bought and now uneaten food in their shared mini fridge. Lance cracked his knuckles. “Let’s hope your mullet doesn’t block your _fresh eyes_ , Keith.” Lance mocked Allura’s previous words in her exact accent, obviously the work of many impressions before. Clearly, Lance was given a lot of free rein in this job.

Keith rolled his eyes and yanked the file from Lance’s hands. “How can it block anything when your ego is already taking up so much space?” he retorted smoothly.

At that, Hunk gently placed a hand over Lance’s mouth‒ surprisingly fast for a move so gentle, Keith noted‒ effectively smothering any quips Lance might’ve sent Keith’s way.

* * *

“You know he didn’t even graduate right,” Pidge said to Lance calmly an hour later, stuffing another forkful of chow mein in her mouth. “He dropped out in his third year.”

“What!” Lance’s hand hit the break room table. He was finally eating the food Hunk had bought, but Pidge was ruining it for him! “How is he an officer without graduating?”

Pidge shrugged. “He had enough credits to graduate, but was doing a specialization track when he dropped out. He was a real prodigy before he left, though. Solved a cold case so old the school was using it as an example for students.”

Lance narrowed his eyes. “And you know this, how?” He was bending his fork in his hands unconsciously.

“I may have… helped Allura alter the files, slightly. Actually, totally. She didn’t do anything.” Pidge was unsurprisingly unrepentant. “Don’t look at me like that, Lance, you know I’ve always wanted to stick it to the Garrison, especially to Commander Iverson.”

“Pidge!” Lance cried out anyway. “You’re the reason I’m stuck with mullet-man?”

“It’s not a mullet,” Keith said tightly, popping up behind Lance, whose back was to the doorway of the break room.

Lance shrieked and the fork flew across the room. “Warn somebody, will you!” He tried to steady his racing heart. “And go pick up my fork!”

Keith smirked in reply, a tupperware container of food and a spoon in his hand. “Anyway, it’s just hair, what’s it to you?”

“Uh, what’s it to me?” Lance retorted, having gathered himself together. “Only that you’re going to be on my team, and those on my team must be up to date on all trends.”

“What about Hunk’s headband?” Pidge mumbled, her head practically in the takeout container she was eating from. “That’s gotta be against at least five of your current trends.”

“Hunk is exempted from the rules. Hunk can wear whatever Hunk wants because Hunk knows everyone and anyone in this city, and they all love him, so they help us out whenever they can. Also Hunk is amazing and the only one who can pull off something as a ridiculous as an orange headband.” Lance jabbed a thumb in Keith’s direction. “Or a mullet,” he added. “But Hunk would never get a mullet, because Hunk cares about me and I love him.”

“Right,” Keith said, leaning against the wall and twirling pasta in his spoon like a _heathen_ , Lance noted with disgust. “So you have rules, you’re always up to date on trends, and Hunk is exempted, so the rule only applies to… oh, what a surprise. Just me.”

Lance nodded. “Exactly, I’m glad you’re getting it.” He got up from his chair and headed out, leaving his own takeout behind, patting Keith’s cheek on his way. “Now you can get a haircut and we can work on the case peacefully!”

Pidge’s howl of laughter could be heard from across the department as Lance collapsed from Keith’s swift punch in the gut.

* * *

“Shiro, you guys _can’t_ do this to me,” Lance pleaded ineffectively. “If you love me at all, Takashi Shirogane, police dad, you will get rid of mullet-man and let me and Hunk detect in peace.”

Shiro raised an eyebrow. “Takashi Shirogane?”

“Your name,” Lance cried wildly. “I used your full name so you’d know how serious I am! Will you take him off the case or what?”

“First of all,” Shiro said calmly. “Never use my full name again, or I’ll make you scrub the toilets for two weeks. With a toothbrush. I’m sure Margo wants that time off.” Lance paled. “Second, only Allura has that power now, and she wants him on the case. So, he’s on the case. Did that help?” Shiro didn’t wait for a reply, instead he just turned back to his computer.

Lance huffed loudly, a retort already brewing in his mind. He knew Shiro was his superior, and he totally respected and loved Shiro. But still, Lance was a fighter, and that Keith guy really bugged him. Before he could even inhale for his biting words, Hunk walked up and guided him away, gently reminding Lance that Allura had threatened his badge, and Shiro had threatened him with toilet scrubbing, and maybe Lance should just work with the guy after all. Shiro watched Lance leave, and sent Pidge a text message.

At the reply, Shiro made a face at Pidge, who responded in kind with her tongue stuck out, and then he glanced in Lance’s direction, unsurprised to see Hunk and Keith crowded around him as well, all three of them studying the case file for what had to be the thousandth time, even though it looked more like Lance talking to Keith and Hunk watching them while he held the case file out of Lance’s reach. Lance looked back longingly at Hunk every couple of words.

Shiro wasn’t sure what they were talking about, but he knew the review was mostly for Keith’s benefit, as Lance and Hunk had been working the Galra case for the last two years, pursuing and chasing every lead they thought they could find, yet being unable to come up with anything more than frustration. He was a little surprised that Lance had even bothered to go over the file just for Keith. Shiro had half expected him to force Keith to play catch-up on his own. Then again, Shiro supposed they had a lot riding on the case.

_Especially Lance,_ Shiro thought. Lance had the most to prove from this. He knew Lance constantly berated himself over what happened with the last hot lead the precinct had had, and he knew that solving this case was Lance’s way of proving to everyone‒ but especially himself‒ that he could fuck up and still be okay. That no matter what, he had his talents and work ethic to save him. It didn’t help that it was taking so long to prove.

Still, Shiro felt a sigh escape his lips. It was his fault that Keith had come. Shiro had praised him in Allura’s office so many times, lauding the boy prodigy who’d solved Commander Iverson’s cold case in a week flat. It wasn’t that Shiro wasn’t proud of Keith‒ God, Shiro was so proud he could cry‒ but he had been Keith’s mentor back in the academy, and he felt responsible for him, for making sure he took his gift of detecting, and put it to good use on the force. But then Keith’s parents had died, and with them, everything else. Including Keith’s purpose, his will, his direction. He was lost, but nothing Shiro did ever seemed to set him right. Nothing seemed to matter to Keith anymore.  

And Shiro… Well, Shiro just hadn’t seen it coming. Right up until the day Keith had disappeared, Shiro hadn’t even noticed any warning signs at all. So when Allura found him‒ and Shiro meant she’d literally tracked him down‒ and discovered he’d had enough credits to graduate without any specialization, told Shiro she wanted to bring him in for a job, no interview needed, he was secretly pleased. This precinct was crazy, but everyone had come to feel like family in the last three years, and he hoped this would be the push Keith needed to start his life back up again. It had to be fate that he had the only boss crazy enough to hire someone just on Shiro’s say-so alone. Then he convinced Allura to assign Keith to Lance and Hunk, pushed Keith to accept Allura’s offer, refusing to let him say no.

_But now everything was fucked,_ Shiro thought, smiling ruefully. Lance couldn’t stand Keith, Keith couldn’t stand Lance, and poor Hunk was stuck in the middle, trying to side with his best friend but trying to be friends with the new guy. It would take a miracle for them to solve any case together, let alone the Galra one. Shiro looked into Allura’s office, where Coran was seated in front of her desk, twirling his moustache as she spoke to him. Whatever Allura wanted, Allura got. He watched as Coran laughed wildly, then did an elaborate bow to her during his farewell, and Shiro did his best to stifle his own laughter as he watched Keith bolt in there so fast Coran’s mustache almost started smoking from the friction. Guess the file-sharing hadn’t gone so well.

* * *

“I can’t work with him, Allura,” Keith stated flatly as the door swung shut on Coran, pacing the length of her office back and forth, unsure of what to do with all of the anxiety building within him.

Allura frowned. “Keith. What do you mean you can’t work with him?”

Keith ran his fingers through his hair. “He’s so goddamn annoying, I don’t know how anyone expects us to get this case solved, I mean how does _he_ have the precinct’s highest arrests, he looks like he can barely figure out a ketchup dispenser, let alone‒”

Allura chuckled, and Keith stopped mid sentence. He shoved both of his hands in his pockets, cheeks growing warm, unsure why she was laughing, or even why he was embarrassed. Stupid.

“Keith,” she said, finally putting an end to the laughter. “I know he may not look like much, but Lance is sharper than he seems. It’s all facades and showmanship with him. He’s really quite the detective, you know.”

“Sure, Allura, you can say that, but have you heard him _speak?”_ Keith asked impatiently. “He tells stories about everything he did last night, _when no one even asked_ , he tells jokes that make everyone cringe and laugh in the same go, and he’s so _bright?_ I-I don’t understand it!” Keith pivoted and placed his hands on Allura’s desk, flat. “Do you want to know what one of the first things he said to me was?”

“Before or after you punched him in the kidney?”

“After, _obviously_. He said sorry!” Keith nearly shouted. “He said he was sorry and the whole time he kept looking back to give pointed glares at Hunk so it was obviously a set-up apology to ease tension, and then he said to make up for it he was going to tell me one of his best jokes, and here it is, Allura, the joke that’s haunted me since: how does a Japanese dog say hello?”

“Keith, I‒”

“ _Konichiwawa.”_

Allura burst into uncontrollable laughter at that, her head coming to rest on her desk as tears slid down her face. Keith just stared at her expectantly, waiting out each bout of laughter as it came. “See what I mean?” he asked her finally. “He doesn’t make _any sense!_ ”

“Oh my,” Allura uttered as she calmed herself down. “Oh goodness, yes, I do see what you mean. You’re going to have fun,” she told Keith, smiling with all of her teeth. “You’re going to have so much fun with him, you know.”

Keith stared at her again. There came that weird twist in his chest, the ache that felt full and empty all at once. The ache that made him want to get on his bike and rev the engine until it roared as loudly as he felt. “Y-you’re not taking me off the case?”

“Why would I do that? No, you’re on that case. If anything, that joke cemented it.”

Keith groaned. He turned the other way and shoved the door open, but swiveled to face Allura again for one last question.

“Why does he call the precinct Voltron?” he asked her.

She chuckled to herself. “He got the idea that we needed a group name, something powerful and mighty. He tried so many names: Varadero, Altea, even Garlic Knots once when he was hungry. He tried Castle of Lions last, for our bravery he said, but it was too long and never really stuck. When he finally settled on Voltron, everyone was so relieved it was only one word and easy to chant, so they unanimously went with it.”  

The anecdote was 100% Lance that Keith didn’t doubt it for a second. He guessed he had no choice but to try and make the best of being partners with Lance and Hunk. He moved and the door swung shut between him and Allura. _Good_ , he thought. _The sooner they solved the case, the sooner he could go home and forget about this whole ordeal anyway._ He’d only promised Shiro this one case anyway.

* * *

Keith’s plan to help didn’t go so well. Almost immediately, Lance shoved Keith’s hand away irritably. “What do you want?” he asked impatiently, flipping through the file one more time. God damn it, he couldn’t focus. Lance took a deep breath to stop himself from doing what he really wanted to do‒ namely, hyperventilating into the nth dimension‒ remembering Shiro’s mantra or whatever. _Patience yields focus._ Sure, wise words from the guy who never fucked up a case.

Keith snatched the file from him and Lance felt a part of him break. “The _file_ , dumbass. I can’t offer a fresh perspective if I don’t even know what I’m looking at.” He opened the first page delicately, studying the first witness report with an eyebrow raised.

Lance crossed his arms over his chest. His foot tapped impatiently. His hands itched to be on the file, to sit down and erase everything except that until he had the case solved. Lance tamped down that urge, but only just barely. “You don’t have a fresh perspective to offer,” he muttered. “Hunk and I do just fine on our own.” His foot twitched. “And you’ve looked at it six times already,” he complained when Keith ignored him to study the photographs instead.

“Really?” Keith said, tapping a grainy surveillance camera. “So then, you and Hunk already questioned the owners of Sage Sushi Barbecue?”

“Yes!” Lance cried. “And they said the same thing as everyone else‒” He froze at Keith’s face. “What?”

“Where’s their interview?”

“What?”

“Where. Is. their. Interview?” Keith enunciated slowly.

“In… the file?”

“No, it’s not.”

“Wait, what place did you say?”

“Sage Sushi Barbecue.” Keith pointed at the picture. “You can barely make it out,” he said, grinning a little, and Lance reluctantly noticed that it made his entire face seem brighter, younger, like Lance was looking at who Keith used to be, “so I can see how you would miss it. But there’s definitely an interview waiting to happen there.”

“Shut up,” Lance mumbled halfheartedly, more than a little embarrassed to have missed such an obvious clue. He felt like a rock had dropped into his stomach, he felt like it was encompassing his entire self and he felt weighted and heavy. When would he learn his lesson from the last time he fucked up? How fucking stupid would he have to be before he finally understood? Lance noticed Hunk watching him carefully and he quickly smiled to cover up the feelings of wanting to die. Besides, the photograph had probably been too grainy for his delicate eyes, he decided instead. “Let’s go,” he said as he shoved those intrusive thoughts down, yanking Hunk’s arm and dragging him along as the three of them made their way to the parking garage. He kept his face towards the ground just in case anyone could see the troubling thoughts that brewed, growing stronger in intensity the longer they stirred.

 


	3. And when the two collide

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's me, back at it again with another chapter.
> 
> Song for this chapter is [Objection (Tango)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8C6xDjQ66wM) by Shakira. The specific one is the Spanish version, but the English one is also amazing, so check them both out if you have time!

“What kind of place is this?” Lance hissed, hidden behind a smelly dumpster. He wrinkled his nose in disgust. _God_ , it would take so much body wash to feel clean again. “Who serves sushi _and_ barbecue?”

“God,” Hunk said reverently. “God serves sushi and barbecue.” Unlike Lance, he was relatively unconcerned with where he was standing. _He_ wasn’t hidden behind garbage cans, Lance thought unfairly. Only he himself had drawn the short straw. Metaphorically, of course, since he’d left his straws in his desk drawer.

“Both of you _shut up!”_

The three of them were crouched by the restaurant, watching the patrons go in and out, in and out. None of them would admit it, but their stomachs were growling more and more as the time went, with each passing swing of the door, as both sushi and barbecue smells were curling out to greet them. God, Lance hated stakeouts. He always had, and he didn’t understand why they were staking out what should’ve been a simple go in, get the testimony, get out kinda plan. Not to mention, why the fuck they were staking out behind dumpsters instead of their nice clean car. _This_ was Keith’s fresh perspective? Getting close but not too close? Lance knew a rookie mistake when he saw one, and this was definitely a rookie one. _This was the Galra case,_ he thought irritably. No one should be taking chances by letting a rookie take the reins. So why had Lance listened to Keith?

He didn’t know why, but he rapidly analyzed the place they were in. Close enough to hear, but not be heard. Close enough to see but not be seen. In the blindspots of nearly every surveillance camera on the block‒ a rare thing, Lance knew‒ and he almost wept with the amount of apology he would’ve owed if he had called Keith a rookie. This was the one time they would be able to get this close without being spotted, and it was only because of Keith that they could get that close. And yet this totally ruined the day for Lance, because it had taken Keith .02 seconds to find this spot, and it had taken Lance up until now to realize it.

Why was he fucking up so much? Lance hated himself in that moment, because he was the seasoned cop, the veteran who knew so much about everything‒ and Keith was already better than him. His hands shook with anxiety, and Lance wanted so desperately to run, to go home and hide underneath his blanket until the world seemed less blindingly bright and loud. Until it seemed more manageable for someone like him.

Realizations of Keith’s slightly not rookie status‒ and Lance’s own painfully lesser status‒ aside, Lance’s ADHD soon got the best of him, and he stood up suddenly, ignoring both the pins and needles feeling in his legs and the whispered shouts from Hunk and Keith. He walked into the store, grimacing at the smell he emanated, but excited for the unconventional food nonetheless.

“Hello! Welcome to Sage Sushi and Barbecue, how many people?” A perky waitress with sleek hair greeted him, hand thrust into a pile of menus, ready to grab however many she needed. Her nose wrinkled at the sight and smell of him, but her smile never faltered.

“Uh, one,” Lance said, rubbing the back of his head self-consciously. She grabbed a menu and opened her mouth, about to speak.

Hunk appeared to the right of Lance, startling the waitress into silence. “Two.”

Keith showed up next. “Make that three.”

The waitress gave them a long look, once, twice, thrice over, before finally grabbing three menus and leading them away.

“Nice of you to join me,” Lance muttered, his hands shoved in his pockets.

Keith gave him a sardonic smile. “We couldn’t let you make an ass of yourself all alone,” he whispered tartly into Lance’s ear, his breath tickling Lance and making a shiver race down his spine.

Lance felt the back of his neck grow warm, but he couldn’t figure out why. It wasn’t like he _cared_ about looking stupid. Show up at a departmental Christmas party, and Lance could be found incredibly drunk making an ass of himself, or stone cold sober making an ass of himself. The greatest part about Lance _was_ his ass, it didn’t matter if it was his personality or his actual ass. So why shouldn’t he show it off?

Stupid Keith and his stupid weird behavior, making Lance question his own behavior and habits.

“Plus we were starving,” Hunk added brightly, interrupting Lance’s inner monologue. “This place smells great! I can’t believe I haven’t been here yet.”

“Oh, we’re pretty new,” the waitress told him as they reached the table, smiling up at Hunk. “We opened fairly recently, and it takes time to build a good client base. So it’ll be a while before your friends talk about us.”

Keith frowned, but Lance figured that was basically his default look and ignored it. “Well, _I_ think I’ll be visiting more often,” he said to the waitress with a wink, trying to shake off the leftover feelings from Keith. “At least now that I know the staff is so pretty.” He slid into his chair smoothly.

The waitress gave Lance a thin lipped smile, whipping out her notepad and taking their drink orders. As Hunk gave her his order, Lance felt Keith kick his shin _hard_.

“Ouch,” he hissed, rubbing the skin lightly. “What the fuck was that for?”

Keith ducked behind the menu quickly as the waitress glanced his way, but his response was too innocent for Lance to ignore. “What was what for, Lance?”

Instead of replying, Lance tried to kick him back, only to hit the table and jostle the condiments the restaurant kept on it. _Goddamn it, Keith_ , he thought sourly.

The waitress threw a lightning fast look at the kitchen, then left for the drinks, smiling at Lance again, a little too brightly, a little too pasted on to be real. But only if he focused could he tell it was fake. It was so well done, such a clever and expert disguise that even Lance had trouble believing his own eyes. In the end, though, he knew it was fake, and he couldn’t pretend otherwise. Which sort of soothed the anxious part of him that was convinced he didn’t deserve his badge, that he was a rookie himself. That his years of experience meant nothing.

So despite everything, despite the fact that Lance loved the smells of the food, despite the fact that his stomach gurgled and growled so loudly he wondered if aliens could hear it… Lance pushed all of that aside. He was hungry, but this was the Galra case. His case. Hunk’s case. Hell, even Keith’s case. It was _their_ case. And they, especially Lance, had too much invested in it for him to just ignore the steadily growing gut instinct telling him that something was wrong, something was off. As she left their table, having now dropped off the drinks and taken their food order‒ which Lance had chosen at random, eyes unseeing, the only image coming to mind was the one of her fake smile‒ Lance snagged Keith’s wrist, stopping him from sipping on his drink.

“Don’t,” he said tightly, clutching Keith’s wrist still. “Don’t drink it, I‒” He noticed Hunk taking a sip. “Hey!” He dropped Keith’s wrist like it burned, and barely noted Keith rubbing that wrist as if it _had_ been burned.

Hunk was bewildered. “What? Oh, the drink? Oh man, should I not have done that?”

“No? I don’t really know,” Lance replied unhappily. He sighed. “It’s okay, you’re going to be fine. I just… I have a bad feeling about this place, that’s all.”

“You too?” Keith looked at Lance with so much seriousness that Lance’s heart wanted to somersault out. Keith was a prick and had stolen Lance’s glory, but he had gotten the same warning! Lance wasn’t crazy!

“Yeah,” Lance said. “Something about it‒ the waitress‒ I don’t think we should eat anything,” he continued finally. “I think we should just pretend we’re all full, or whatever.”

Keith looked at him like he was stupid. “I hate to burst your bubble, O Great Detective, but if we don’t eat, then she’ll know something’s up. People come in _because_ they’re hungry. We can’t just leave either.”

“Well then, what’s _your_ great idea, mullet?” Lance shot back.

Hunk sighed loudly, and the two bickering boys turned to face him. “I guess I’ll take one for the team. I already drank the drink, and we can’t risk our cover being blown so, I’ll eat whatever you guys ordered. We’ll see if something happens to me. Hopefully nothing, but, I’d rather see the Galra behind bars from my kickass couch in Heaven, than see them free from my okay couch in the city.”

“Hunk!” Lance cried, appalled that his best friend had turned morbid in the span of a sentence. He didn’t like to think that there would be a day without Hunk. He fervently prayed to whoever was up there that they also recognized Hunk as the beautiful cinnamon roll he was, and would make sure Hunk never died.

Lance wanted to argue more but Keith kicked him under the table again. Lance glared at him, about to yell, when he saw the waitress coming back with trays of food.

Hunk gazed at the tray wearily but nonetheless excited. It was piled with heaps of food, each dish looking more delicious than the last. “What’d you guys order anyway?”

The waitress set it all down with a flourish. “Here we go! Our party platter will be out shortly.” She stood there for a moment, clearly expecting something, but Lance was unsure what exactly she wanted.

Keith cleared his throat. “Oh. Um. Thank you?” he offered uncertainly, but she got the hint and left.

Hunk released a groan that shook the table. “Lance,” he moaned.

“What is it, buddy? What happened? Is it the drink?”

“No,” Hunk said on another groan. “How could you order the _party platter_? That’s the worst! I’m eating two meals _and_ a party platter?”

Lance chuckled. “It’s not like I ordered based on personal preference,” he told Hunk. “Trust me, if it had been an actual order from me, you would be so excited to eat right now. I eat great.” He puffed out his chest dramatically.

Keith burst out laughing and it startled Lance as much as it delighted him. “Lance, I’ve only been here a short time, and already I’ve seen you eat a week old croissant.”

“Pidge dared me to!” Lance cried.

“No, Pidge told you not to eat it. And then you said, ‘Don’t tell me what to do, Pidge’, and ate it anyway.” Keith struggled to stop the last few chuckles that kept escaping.

“W-whatever,” Lance mumbled, cheeks heating up at the sound of Keith’s hiccupping laughter. “It’s not like I died or anything anyway, so there was nothing to be worried about.”

“Oh, shut up, Lance,” Hunk said, finally calming down and starting on the food. “We’re always going to be worried about you.”

The “we” was enough to make Lance shut up for the rest of the meal, as the three of them “ate” in companionable silence.

* * *

They got into the car, Lance in the driver’s seat. As usual. Hunk chose not to comment on it this time, thanks to his bubbling stomach.

“Great meal and all, you guys,” Lance said, flipping the radio on. “But you know we have to check the place out for real. The waitress was too shady not to be in on _something_.”

“Yeah,” Keith agreed, and Hunk actually looked outside for the impending apocalypse that had to be starting soon if Lance and Keith were _agreeing_. “We definitely have to come back.” He clapped a hand on Hunk’s back. “And you, you’d better tell us if you feel bad, okay?”

Hunk actually felt extremely queasy, but since he wasn’t sure if that was from the drink, the food, or the quantity of food, he decided to keep it to himself, at least for a little while. That worked until he had to shove his door open to hurl onto the pavement while they were waiting at a stop light, dry heaving for a while, a bitter aftertaste in his mouth that was destined to put him off seafood forever. Hunk mourned that loss in between heaves. He _loved_ seafood. How could he make his famous paella if he couldn’t even taste it?

“Hunk!” Lance yelled, jamming the gearshift into park. “Hunk, talk to me! Are you okay?”

Hunk gave a grunt of acknowledgement before turning away to throw up a second and third time.

“Lance,” Keith said warningly, one hand outstretched as if to help Hunk from the backseat of the car.

Lance gritted his teeth, inhaling sharply. “I know, I know.” He called out to Hunk, “As soon as we get back, you’re going to Pidge for analysis, okay, buddy?”

From the back, Keith spoke, “I thought Pidge was just IT?”

“Pidge is anything,” Lance told Keith, teeth flashing in a smile even though his best friend was still struggling to hold on to anything in his stomach. “Normally Pidge is IT, and she’s damn good at it, but since she has so many specializations, not to mention qualifications, Shiro lets her do whatever she wants, as long as the firewalls are up and web security is in place. So Pidge can help us out with the analysis, and she’ll do it way faster than the normal guys would.”

“So Shiro plays favorites,” Keith summarized. He knew Shiro tried to be objective and fair, especially in the workplace, but also realized that Shiro had probably crumbled pretty quickly under the lethal charm and quirk of Pidge, Hunk, and Lance. They’d probably unlocked Shiro’s dad instincts, Keith figured, and having to come save them from so many disasters had given Shiro a sense of responsibility over them. So… Shiro played favorites. Pidge more than most, because Pidge’s height just inspired that sense of protectiveness, even if she was more than capable of taking care of herself. Keith was a little jealous, if he was being honest, but he’d never actually admit that out loud.

Lance sent him a crooked grin before Hunk leaned back in the car, gasping. “Could… be the… amount… of food… I ate…” he told Lance, still a conversation behind due to his gastrointestinal issues, bracing himself against the dashboard for support, his hands narrowly missing the radio which had continued blaring on without a worry in the world. He wearily closed his door.

Lance nodded thoughtfully. “Y’know, that’s true, Hunk,” he agreed, easily slipping the car back into drive and through traffic like it was nobody’s business. Hunk turned a disturbing shade of green, and Keith waited for the inevitable pulling over again, but Lance continued and Hunk eventually returned to a normal shade. “But I think Keith and I would feel a lot better if you got Pidge to look through ya anyway, yeah?”

Keith turned his head quickly, a flush spreading across his face, wondering what it meant when his chest fluttered at the words “Keith and I”. He managed to nod his head when Hunk looked at him questioningly, but only barely. For so long he’d been alone, first by fate second by choice, and therefore had done little in a coordinated effort with someone else. Keith’s first instinct had always been to push away any offered hands and do everything himself, even before his parents died. His isolation only grew after they passed and left him with calluses scattered along his body like tattoos marking where he was broken. He shouldered his burdens and in return, made sure no one else came close to the destruction that rose in his wake wherever he walked.

Keith tentatively set his hand on Hunk’s shoulder in what he hoped was a comforting gesture. Keith didn’t have much experience with comfort‒ either being comforted or comforting‒ and he wasn’t exactly sure what Hunk’s preferred method of it was, so he could only try and hope for the best. He saw Lance’s startled gaze land on his hand, on his fingerless gloves and long fingers‒ shouldn’t he be focused on the road?-- and he saw Hunk notice Lance’s noticing, but it was all a jumble of emotions to him, confusing and confusion, and he quickly pulled back, hoping he hadn’t crossed any lines. Friendships were weird.

He missed the dusting of red that covered Lance’s cheeks. Hunk snorted and Lance busied himself by turning up the radio as a distraction, letting out a delighted shout when he heard what was playing.

_Ay te aviso y te anuncio que hoy renuncio_

_A tus negocios sucios_

_Ya sabes que estoy de ti vacunada_

_A prueba de patadas_

_Por ti me quede como Mona Lisa_

_Sin llanto y sin sonrisa_

_Que el cielo y tu madre cuiden de ti_

_Me voy, sera mejor asi!_

Hunk laughed at Lance’s dance moves, swiveling his hips in the seat with perfect synchronicity to the song. Keith watched Lance’s face instead. He watched the way Lance’s lips curled around those _S_ s, making each sound a delightful breath of air even as he slurred some words into the next line. But what was especially eye catching was the openness, the vulnerability‒ all of it shocked Keith. How could someone be so open in front of friends, in front of strangers, no less? Keith gaped openmouthed as Lance gave the man in the car next to them an easy grin, and the man to Lance in turn. Watched as the man gave Lance his number, _how how how_ , and all Lance had done was smile as he did everyday and accept it with a flirtatious wink, _Lance was gay Lance is gay Lance likes guys, hell, at the very least he’s bi_ , and yet that simple act of just smiling eluded Keith on the daily.

Then an interruption to the screaming in Keith’s mind: “ARE YOU GUYS READY?” Lance shouted, hands a brown blur as he messed with the stereo system, the volume and thump of the bass increasing. Hunk nodded furiously, all nausea seemingly gone in this moment.

“GET SET.” Lance seemed to be waiting for some sign to go, but Keith was hopelessly lost, and a look at Hunk didn’t help anything. Lance bit his lip in concentration.

“GO!” Hunk shouted.

Lance’s lips blurred as he introduced the rap to the song. Keith stared, mesmerized at the sight and flawless way he did it.

_Talvez tu no eras ese para mi_

_No se como se puede ya vivir_

_Queriendo asi_

 

_Estan patetico, neurotico, satirico y sicotico_

_Tu no lo ves_

_El tango no es de a tres_

_Ahi voy planeando escapar y me sale al reves_

_Pero voy a intentarlo una y otra vez voy_

It probably wasn’t the hardest rap, Keith realized, but it was definitely one of the better ones he’d heard, and that was all because of Lance. He threw his whole body into it, fists slamming into the steering wheel, left leg adding percussion, expression full of light and hope and joy, despite the angry sounding words. Everything that Keith had lost in the last two years, somehow Lance had it in spades. Keith was envious. How could someone have so much of it and not even notice the way he lit up a room? Everyone else knew, he was sure. Coran comforted Lance, Shiro guided him, Allura put up with his ridiculous antics. Lance was one of the few people able to mess with Pidge and get away only slightly maimed. People flocked to him, and Keith wanted to be one of them. If Lance was the shepherd, Keith wanted to be part of his flock. Not one of the sheep, but one of the… herd dogs? He winced at the dumb analogy. At the very least, someone who shared a deeper connection to Lance, a steady stream of reliance going back and forth between them. And maybe, just maybe, Lance’s ray of light would hit him, and be enough to guide him back home.


	4. It's no coincidence

Arriving back at the precinct was somehow worse than leaving. Hunk kept sending Keith _those_ looks, Lance whistled cheerfully, and the entire squadron seemed to be holding their collective breath for an update on the case.

“We didn’t find them,” Lance said, and the entire room deflated. “Oh come on,” he added, frowning at their obvious displeasure, “this was our first day! We got a good lead, and we know where to go next.” He slapped a hand on the table for emphasis, and Keith briefly wondered if there was a single surface that Lance _didn’t_ slap when he needed to make a point.

At Lance’s encouraging words, the department got back to work. The shuffle of papers and beginning small talk created white noise as the three of them headed to Pidge’s desk.

“Heya, Pidgeot.” Lance hopped onto Pidge’s desk.

She didn’t even look up from her laptop. “Off.”

Lance ignored her words, swinging his legs like a child. _Christ_ , he was all long legs and he still could swing them like that. Sure, he had to bend them at weird angles, but he still swung them with the carefree air of someone who didn’t know the things Lance probably knew. “Listen, Pidge, Hunk kinda ate something funky, and we think it has to do with the case, so we were really hoping you could take a look at him, maybe draw some blood or something? Do your analyzing thing?”

 _“_ Blood?” Hunk asked, panicking. “You didn’t say anything about Pidge taking my blood!”

“No way in hell, Lance. _Off_.”

Lance reached down and gently grabbed Pidge’s chin, forcing her to look him in the eyes. He gave her his best puppy dog eyes, soulful and earnest, and Keith knew those eyes must run in the family because Lance _definitely_ knew what he was doing. He wielded them like a weapon. Pidge sighed, knowing a lost cause when she saw one.

“Fine,” she acquiesced. “But you do my paperwork for the next 6 weeks.”

Lance frowned. “3!”

“6.”

“4.”

“5.”

“Deal.” They shook each other’s hands. Lance grinned at Hunk. “Come on, big guy, time for Pidge to poke and prod ya.”

“Okay, but Lance, you didn’t say anything about blood earlier.”

“Oh, Hunk, please.” Pidge scoffed. “You won’t even notice.” Pidge took a needle from her kit and swabbed at Hunk’s skin, laughing when he let out a small shriek at the cold feeling. Suddenly and without warning, Pidge jammed the needle into Hunk’s elbow.

“Ow!” Hunk yelled. “Warning! And you said I wouldn’t feel it!”

Pidge shrugged. “You have good veins, there’s no way I would’ve missed. And you wouldn’t have felt it if I tried to make it painless.”

“Well I felt it!”

“I didn’t try.”

Hunk gave Pidge a wounded look. She smirked back at him. Lance grabbed Hunk’s hand, wrapping his own around it. “I gotcha, buddy,” he said kindly, patting Hunk’s hand. “Squeeze my hand when it hurts, okay?”

“Thanks, Lance,” Hunk said, genuinely relieved. Lance's hand already purpled from the tight grip Hunk had on him.

“Alright,” Pidge said, untying the tourniquet, sealing the blood vials, and slamming her laptop closed, what had to be the weirdest collection of movements, ever, Keith was sure. “I’ll know whatever it is you guys wanted me to know by tomorrow.”

“Shouldn’t you know what we wanted to know?”

Pidge shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. This baby’ll tell me anything I want, won’t you baby?” she crooned to her laptop lovingly. She stroked the shiny silver chrome of it with one finger, still talking in baby talk.

Lance looked at it curiously. “Hey, this isn’t Voltron tech!” He reached for it, hands making grabby motions in midair.

Pidge snatched it back from him. “It’s _not_ Voltron tech. I built it.”

“You built it?” all three of them chorused.

“Yes,” she said, rolling her eyes. “But I used Voltron’s old computers to build it, so maybe not tell anyone I did this? Avoid getting little ol’ me in trouble?”

“Right,” Lance replied, barely covering his snort of laughter. “So, we’ll just leave you and your stolen computer‒ which as a good detective, I really should be writing a report on‒ alone.” He slid off her desk and fixed her with a weird look. The weirder part was that Pidge returned it. And the weirdest part was that it seemed to be communicating something between them.

* * *

The next day, the world was out to get Lance. His alarm was set for a ridiculously early time and Lance had turned it off without setting a new one. He was in the shower when he ran out of his favorite cleanser before he had enough lather for his entire face. He was trying to shave when he nicked his chin. He realized the laundry by the pound place hadn’t yet returned his last load, and he had to put on his dirty uniform.

By the time Lance got on the road, he was an hour late, the bandage on his chin had come off, his dirty uniform had spots of blood on it, and he’d totally forgotten his favorite headphones. A hastily written text told Shiro and Hunk about his tardiness, but he knew it was riddled with typos and probably made zero sense. But whatever, he didn’t have time for proper grammar and spelling. He was _late_ , and that made him anxious. Another fuck up in the life of Lance McClain. What else was new. Jesus Christ.  

He managed to arrive only two hours late, after traffic had slowed to a crawl and the elevator had broken down slightly between two floors. When Lance had complained about the elevator, maintenance had told him it was “being resolved” and that in the meantime it was still safe to use provided you had enough time, complete with snickers and gestures to Lance’s current state of dress. _Okay, world! I understood I was late, and the ramifications being late came with! Why such a harsh punishment for it! I’m already suffering from crippling anxiety!_

Lance knew he was being dramatic, but also knew he had reasons to be dramatic, damn it.

“I’m sorry I’m late!” he cried, bursting in the doors.

Allura stopped what she was doing‒ shuffling papers in her hand‒ and peered at him curiously. “You were late?”

Lance stopped. “Um. No. I was just, um, over here,” he gestured in a general direction, “talking to my buddy, um,” a quick scan of the room proved Hunk wasn’t around, “Keith! About the, um, case.”

“The case?” Allura echoed dubiously.

“Yes.” Lance nodded vigorously to emphasize his point. “The case. But I can see that in my brief absence to the bathroom, Keith decided to talk to Shiro, and so I’ll just leave him alone now‒”

“Lance.” Allura’s eyes brooked no argument. “If he’s talking to Shiro, it’s probably case related, don’t you think? Go over and join them.”

He got the distinct feeling Allura was teasing him, but ambled over there anyway to give his story a foundation.

“‒-e told me that there was nothing they could do, and that it looked like an average burglary anyway, so I’m on my own for that,” Keith was saying to Shiro.

Shiro nodded. “Well, now you have resources you didn’t have, so do you think that’ll change anything?”

“Doubt it.” Keith’s entire body language screamed _don’t bother me_ , and if Lance didn’t know Allura’s eyes were burning holes into his back, he definitely would’ve turned back, but instead he forged on. “There’s just too much to go over, just for tracking my dad.”

“Well, I think after this case you’ll change your‒ Ah, Lance!” Shiro said, leaning back in his chair. “Coming here about the case?”

Lance replied in the affirmative, giving Keith the once over and noting how tense his shoulders were. He was hunched in on himself, chewing his lip, as if the entire world had suddenly collapsed on him and he was doing his level best just to keep it an inch away from the ground.

“Keith was just giving me an update.” Shiro’s voice had taken on a slight note of desperation, protection, and his movements were getting progressively more obnoxious, as if he wanted to distract Lance from the way Keith was acting. He shouldn’t have worried, because Keith stood up as if suddenly shocked.

“I’m going to get some water,” he mumbled halfheartedly as he left, brusquely brushing past them both. Lance noticed his gaze was distant and empty, lights on but nobody home.

“What’s that about?” Lance questioned as soon as Keith was out of earshot.

Shiro sighed. “Nothing you need to worry about, Lance.”

Lance scoffed. “C’mon, Shiro, we’re partners, aren't we? I should know everything.”

“It’s Keith’s personal business,” he said, but it sounded as if he was phoning in from the part of his mind that reminded him people were there.

Lance sighed dramatically, crossing his arms over his chest, mulling over what he'd heard. Keith's dad?

Shiro interrupted his thoughts. “How’d Sage Sushi Barbecue go?”

 _Fuck._ Lance had totally forgotten about it, and he mulled yesterday over in his head before realizing Pidge was supposed to give them Hunk’s food results today. “Um, it went well, I think? I’m not really sure, because Hunk almost died, but well, what can you do about that?” he rambled, trying to stop the conversation so he could leave. His fingers tapped his biceps frantically. “So Pidge is supposed to tell us what happened to Hunk, then I guess we’ll find out?” He spotted Hunk coming in from the bathroom, and he brightened, forgetting about stupid Keith and the stupid worry that had built up when he saw stupid Keith’s stupid eyes. “Okay, see ya later, Shiro! I I’ll let you know what happens! Thanks for the input!”

It was Shiro’s turn to sigh heavily. He was weary, exhausted. He loved Lance, but talking with him was like a rollercoaster. At first, he resisted talking‒ good detective habits die hard, Shiro knew‒ slow build up, but once you got him started, he wouldn’t shut up. Tangents left and right, Shiro never knew where a conversation would go. In fact, Shiro envied Keith, if only because Lance willingly stopped talking to him.

That was a disloyal thought, and Shiro dismissed it as soon as it came. He knew if Lance actually stopped talking, the precinct would become a lonely place for everyone. Lance made it brighter, his wit and ingenuity creating some of the department’s favorite traditions. Secret Santa, New Year’s Karaoke, Easter Egg Hunt‒ all of that was owed to Lance, who conceptualized and organized each event without complaint about the effort it took. They all looked forward to each holiday, and it was thanks to Lance. He was integral and crucial and gave his all to everything they did, and Shiro felt so guilty he’d even thought about erasing the quintessence of Lance just in exchange for some silence.

* * *

Lance skidded to a stop in front of Hunk. He slung an arm around Hunk’s shoulders, smiling brightly into his eyes. “Hunk!” he sang, “Hunk, Hunk, Hunk, my lovable pal, my lovable lunk! Guess what time it is? Time to go see Pidge!” Lance didn’t wait for an answer to his spew of words, instead just started towing Hunk to Pidge’s desk. “Follow the coffee cup road, follow the coffee cup road!”

While it was an apt description for the way to Pidge’s desk‒ she was notorious for her caffeine consumption‒ Hunk peered at Lance suspiciously. “Hey Lance,” he tried to make this as innocuous sounding as possible, “did you take your pills earlier?”

“I may have forgotten them but that’s totally okay because it’s time to see the Pidgelet anyway!”

“Wait, well, what about Keith?” Hunk said, trying to slow Lance down at least a little bit. “We can’t get the results without Keith, our third member in the task force!”

Lance hummed in reply. He seemed totally unconcerned about Keith. Hunk shook his head in exasperation but allowed Lance to lead him all the way in front of Pidge’s desk.

“You’re here for the results?” Pidge asked, then chugged from her to-go cup of coffee. “God, I fucking hate mornings.”

“Language!” Shiro called from across the room, his dad voice fully functional. He laughed when Pidge sent him a dirty look.

“Sorry,” she yelled in an unapologetic tone. “I frigging hate mornings!” He gave her a thumbs up.

She let out a huge exhale, and then gazed at Lance, who was now using her pencils as drumsticks. “I told you not to touch my stuff! Why are you like this so early in the morning? What’d you do, forget your meds?” She looked at Hunk, who nodded in Lance’s stead. “God, Lance. You want the results? Drop the pencils.”

He immediately let go, slumping into the nearest chair that wasn’t Pidge’s own, seemingly exhausted of the energy that they both knew still consumed him, but his leg kept jiggling to some internal beat.

Hunk decided this was the best time to interrupt. “So Pidge, what did you find?”

“Nothing.”

“Pidge,” he protested. “I don’t think this is the time to start being immature because of Lance’s antics, I mean, you know he didn’t take his meds this morning.”

Pidge looked up. “No, Hunk, I meant, _I didn’t find anything_.”

Lance let out a groan, peeking up from where he lay slumped in a chair. “Are you _serious_? Nothing?” If anything, his foot tapped faster.

“Why would I joke about that? My baby was designed to be flawless and you bozos show up and ruin it!” Pidge snapped. “I couldn’t find anything wrong with Hunk’s blood, alright, it looked fucking perfect.”

“So then why did I throw up?” Hunk asked. He hadn’t been thinking about the question, or he would’ve eaten it back up at the look on her face.

She crumpled up the coffee cup in her hand, ignoring the leaking drops in her anger. Lance saw that they were dark black; Pidge must’ve been drinking straight espresso again, a lot of it, judging by the cup size, something Shiro had expressly forbidden after the way Pidge acted last time. He hid an involuntary shiver. That was one of the most terrifying days of his lives, and he’d been shot at more than once in his line of duty.

“I don’t know!” she shouted, but something in her voice was desperate. Not knowing scared Pidge, Lance knew, and this was something that hit closer to home than other things. This involved one of her best friends. And she didn’t even know what it was. He reached for her, his long limbs able to easily grab the smaller girl around the waist and hug her tightly, seated as he was. Normally Pidge hated contact, avoided it unless it could help her, but this time she shuddered violently as she leaned into it. As if she hated being that weak, but knew she wasn’t that strong.

“I don’t know,” she repeated quietly. “I don’t know.” And they all fell silent.

The three of them stayed like that until Pidge squirmed out of Lance’s grip, her emotions finally leaving her the hell alone like she wanted. He laughed at the way she basically yowled as she got out of his grip, purposely holding her tighter until she got the fighting spirit back in her eyes. Still, he knew the fear wouldn’t leave her until she knew exactly what was wrong, and he knew she wouldn’t quit working until she found it.

“I’ll keep looking,” she promised, touching the opening of her laptop hesitantly. “I’ll find out what’s going on.”

“Ah,” Lance said, exaggerated relaxation on his face. “No worries, Pidgeot. Hunk probably ate too much, huh, Hunk?” He jabbed Hunk with his elbow.

“Huh? Uh, oh, yeah, definitely. I probably ate too much.” Hunk sounded confused, slow to reply, but Lance knew from past experience that he wouldn’t press the subject until it needed to be pressed. Lance also knew Pidge wasn’t stupid, that she knew this was a ploy to get her to stop obsessing, but he couldn’t stop trying to help. She reminded him of his sisters, all of them, all at once.

Suddenly overcome by a wave of nostalgia, Lance once again used his long reach to give Pidge a noogie that she would probably kill him for, but he couldn’t resist. She yelled wordlessly and Lance let her go, laughing, preparing for the hit she was about to deliver. She wound up, he automatically clenched his muscles and then‒

“Hey, Keith!” Hunk greeted as Keith joined the group.

“Where were _you?”_ Lance questioned.

Keith’s mouth tightened and he said, “Research… Not for the case. A different... one. Research.”

All of Pidge’s tension left her arm and Lance felt something in him unwind, and a totally different something tighten. He frowned, unsure of what to make of the… weird feelings in his body. He faced Keith, about to say something else, but let out a huge grunt as Pidge spring-loaded a punch to his kidneys.

Keith let out a laugh at that, and all three of them stared at him. He flushed bright pink. Lance watched in fascination, pain almost forgotten, as it spread all over his chest, the tips of his ears, and he wondered just how far it went down. He found his gaze traveling down Keith’s shoulders, down to his impossibly small waist, his hips. Lance felt a gulp get strangled in his throat, choked to death mercilessly by his own muscles faltering. His eyes flew upwards and met Keith’s, who quickly began glaring at nothing.

“So, um, Pidge,” Keith started and Lance remembered the blow he’d just been delivered. He whirled to face the gremlin.

“Pidge, what the _cheese_?”

Normally that would’ve gotten something out of her. She would’ve laughed, retorted that Lance needed phrases that weren’t stuck in the 90s, given him a glare as she sucked down more coffee that she absolutely didn’t need. This Pidge did none of that. It was like no one was around. Lance poked her experimentally. She made an absentminded noise, reaching for her laptop like it was her sanctuary, her tree branch in the quicksand she’d become trapped in.

“I’ll find out, and let you know,” she murmured, clutching her laptop to her chest tightly. She slowly backed away, and Lance’s heart clenched at the way she was leaving‒ she seemed scared, unsure, totally lost in the world she thought she knew. Her expression struggled between a mask of a blank stare, and the true feelings of hopeless confusion and utter terror she was trying desperately to hide.

They gaped at her retreating figure, twin expressions of bewilderment and one of sadness. Pidge disappeared from view and eventually their gazes turned to each other.

“What the‒” Keith started.

“Is she‒” Hunk said at the same time, to Lance.

Lance stayed quiet. He pursed his lips at the two of them, debating on whether he should let them in on what had just happened to Pidge. Eventually he decided not to, knowing Pidge wouldn’t want them to know, had barely given Lance enough to know, and that it wasn’t really crucial to their case at all.

He exhaled dramatically, slinging an arm around both of their shoulders, gently guiding them away from the direction where Pidge had gone. “Buddies. Pals. Mi amigos. Pidge couldn’t find anything! That means there was nothing to find‒” Lance ignored a pointed look from Hunk. “‒which means that we need a new lead. Anybody? Anybody? Hunk? Keith? Hunk?” He punctuated each name with a glance at the owner.

On the second Hunk, Hunk himself let out a gasp. “Lance! That’s what I was coming to find you about!”

“What?” Lance asked. “You know I was late today‒”

“I know you were, shut up! I came looking for you because I remembered something about the case!”

Keith stepped out from under Lance’s arms and together the three of them wound up forming something akin to a huddle, only a lot more pointed. Lance still had his arm loosely wound around Hunk’s shoulders, but as soon as the shock of air came in from the void Keith left, Lance dropped it, and unconsciously they all scooted closer.

“I remembered,” Hunk said, his voice dropping into a whisper, “the lady from the last case, she said her neighbors had been pulling pranks to scare her. She said they’d been wearing weird yellow contacts at night and her rug had been covered in purple fur, remember? She made that joke about starting to charge them for dry cleaning and they’d just glared at her?”

Lance stared back at Hunk blankly. “Yeah, uh, I don’t think I was there?” he said hesitantly. “I was either in the laundry chute or interviewing the one witness you gave me, who didn’t say anything about that, she just said it was happening in... the… area…”

“Oh shit!” Lance and Hunk cried together. They both ran to the case file, which laid open on Lance’s desk. Keith followed warily, unsure of what was happening, nevertheless certain it was somehow case relevant. Lance wouldn’t be taking it this seriously if it wasn’t. Somehow everything the two of them did always circled back to the case.

Lance ripped the witness pages out of the file. Keith opened his mouth to scold him for his careless handling of important documents, but before he could, Lance cried, “We need to go! Get in the car, go, go, go!”

Then a voice, up from the heavens, an angelic one that somehow sounded downright evil. “Oh, no you don’t. No one is going anywhere.”

Everyone swiveled to face Allura. She had this devilish smirk on her face, as if she’d been waiting for the right moment to spring this and now was the time.

“But‒ Allura‒ the Galra…” Lance trailed off.

She pointed a finger at him. “You’re not going anywhere. Someone told me you nearly compromised a team member on your last trip out.”

All the color drained from Lance’s face. Shiro...

“It’s time for you to remember where you come from,” Allura declared. “It’s time for you to bond as one!”

In the back of his mind, Lance remembered that all the times they’ve been forced to bond before, Pidge was the first to let out a huge guffaw. The first with a snarky comment on whatever exercise they were doing. The first to get roped into the bonding because she just couldn’t stay away. Not this time, Lance thought. She would be too focused on the work. It saddened him, but he caught the tail end of Allura’s next sentence: “-ance, you’ll be partners with Keith, I think you and Hunk are bonded enough. Alright, everyone, come here and make a circle!”

That jolted him out of his reverie. He scrambled for an exit strategy. “Allura, Allura, wait! I-I don’t think Hunk and I are bonded enough, or maybe Hunk and Keith should bond first? I just, I mean‒ this isn’t really necessary, is it?” He forced a chuckle out.

Allura shook her head. “Lance, you’re the only one who has a problem with Keith. Hunk doesn’t need to bond with him to accept him as a partner, but you do. Therefore, you’ll be paired up with Keith.”

Lance spared a glance in Keith’s direction, hoping he would have a protest as well. To his surprise, Keith had merely crossed his arms over his chest, his expression of pained resignation. Not one to be shown up, Lance huffed, shoving his hands in his front jean pockets. “I guess,” he mumbled, kicking imaginary dirt at his feet.

Shiro clapped a hand on his back. “That’s the spirit, Lance! Don’t worry, pretty soon you’ll be so in sync with each other you won’t even need to talk.” He selected a page from a binder he was carrying and made his way to the copier.

Allura stopped him in his tracks. “Ah, Shiro,” she said, plucking the page from his hands. “I think the team would benefit more if they had an example for this.” At his blank stare, she continued, “You’re not getting out of this either, Takashi Shirogane. We’re all bonding, and I’m going to be your partner.” Shiro’s face reddened. She didn’t notice, instead just grabbed his hand, turning to face the group of officers gathered around them.

“We’re going to do all the classics today,” she told them excitedly. “Newspaper house building, trust falls‒ which are a liability, I’m told, so only Lance and Keith will do them, as they’re on a time crunch of bonding-- and my personal favorite,” she paused for effect, “the take away game.”

This was punctuated by Lance immediately shouting, “Hell yeah!” and pumping a fist in the air.

Shiro let out a pained noise. Keith wondered what he had gotten himself into.

* * *

“This is the best way to build the house,” Keith insisted, his hands clenched tightly into fists.

“No! That’s gonna get crushed as soon we try to stand it up,” argued Lance. “You have to make sure you support it. Here, give me another sheet, and I’ll form the leg.”

Keith snatched the paper. “We don’t have paper to waste on a foundation, Lance, we’re supposed to be building the _tallest_ one. Look, Shiro and Allura already have theirs above the minimum line!”

“Give me the paper and we’ll get ours over the line too!”

“No, let’s just build more stacks on top!”

“Aaaaaaand, time!” Coran called cheerfully. He put his pocket watch back in his vest. “Now, let’s see whose building was taller.” He brought out a measuring tape, going to Hunk and Shay’s tower, a modest structure that stood sturdily. At Shiro and Allura’s literal tower‒ unlike certain morons, Lance thought furiously, they didn’t spend time arguing and instead just built a small circle and went up, _with a sturdy foundation_ ‒ Coran made a clucking sound in his throat. They had for sure beaten Hunk and Shay, but it was also a test of time. Would each tower survive the judgment?

Coran walked to Lance and Keith’s tower, but the draft of air caused it to collapse. Lance shoved Keith.

“Look what you did!” he shouted. “ _Hijo de_ ‒ this is because you didn’t let me put a foundation!”

“Don’t yell at me, this is _your_ fault for not letting me finish the tower! Everyone knows if you go fast enough you don’t need stability!”

The rest of the precinct looked absolutely bored, already used to this kind of behavior from the both of them. Shiro stepped in, and sure enough, within minutes it was resolved. If resolved means both of them ignoring the other, muttering angry curses under their breath and wishing a plague upon all their houses.

Allura wisely chose to continue. “Next up, Lance and Keith’s trust fall.”

“Hey, wait, I do _not_ trust mullet to catch me, especially not after the shit he just pulled.”

“Language!” Shiro called sharply.

Lance exhaled. “Fine. I don’t trust mullet to catch me, because he was recently very offending to my person and I think he would let me fall. Better?”

Shiro nodded, hiding a grin at the way Lance had responded.

“I don’t trust you either,” Keith shot back. “So I’m out.”

“Sounds good.” Lance nodded to Allura. “We’re out.”

“No.” She stood firm in her resolve. “Neither of you are out. I am your commanding captain, and I order you to finish these exercises. Both of you are supposed to rely on each other, to lift each other up, to _trust_ that any mistakes in the mission will not dissuade either of you from the ultimate goal. You _will_ trust fall.”

Both of the angry men stood there, stewing in the silence. Lance broke first, unwilling to hurt the case just because of anger. He hated being angry, hated the way it made him petty and ignorant, going for the Achilles’ heels in people’s personal armors, just because he wanted to win the argument.

His shoulders sagged. He stretched a hand out toward Keith. “Truce?”

Keith stared at his hand suspiciously for a beat, and then: “Truce.”

“Excellent,” Allura said. “Now trust fall.”

“Geez,” Lance muttered. “What’s the big deal?” He raised his voice. “I‒ uh, I guess I’ll go first?” When Keith didn’t answer, Lance scowled briefly before turning his back to Keith’s front, spreading his arms wide. “At least if you let me fall, my face will still be fine.”

“You wish.”

Lance took a deep breath, rocked back on his heels, and fell.

There’s something about freefalling, even for just a millisecond, that triggers the base instincts of whoever is falling. Physiologically, your adrenaline spikes, and your body wants to move, wriggle, flip itself over and find a way to break the fall, even at the cost of a bone or two. But Lance was a trustful person by nature; he’d grown up surrounded by people who only wanted the best for him, and old habits die hard. So he resisted every urge that told him Keith would let him fall, let him down. He resisted the urge to move. He fell.

And Keith caught him.

It wasn’t a smooth catch, not by any means. But Lance recognized strength when he saw it, could feel it in the way Keith’s muscles were tensed, in the way Keith gently set him back on his feet. The two clasped hands as Keith supported Lance into a standing position and for a beat the two just stared at each other, hands still loosely together.

Someone coughed, and immediately both boys let go. Keith flushed, and Lance stammered out an excuse of some kind. “W-whatever, I was just, um‒ your hands are really small, Keith!”

Keith’s navy eyes darkened and he stepped into Lance’s space. “ _My_ hands are small? What about yours, Baby Hands McClain?”

“What!” Lance cried. “My hands are perfect! I exfoliate them to perfection! You wear those ugly gloves because your hands are so ugly and… non-exfoliated!” His face burned at Keith’s insult. Were his hands really that small? Did they affect how he worked? His self conscious thoughts were interrupted by Hunk.

“Ha! Good one, Lance!” Hunk was ever supportive of his best friend, even when he had no clue what was happening. Lance loved Hunk for that, only a true best friend would be that encouraging of such a lame retort from an even lamer person.

Allura stepped in. She was rather unsure of what was happening, but certain she had to do something. She cleared her throat. “Right, well, we know Lance trusts Keith, obviously a great deal. Now it’s Keith’s turn. Keith?” She inclined her head in his direction.

He stepped back, looking a little panicked. “Okay.” It was obviously not okay. Lance frowned, matching Keith’s slow steps back.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong, I’m just‒ looking for the right place to fall. Here’s good!” Keith chose a random tile on the floor and waited for Lance.

Lance approached him like one would approach a wild animal, like Lance would approach an exhausted Pidge before her fourth espresso shot. Certain footfalls but slow steps. Keith gave him a wide eyed glance, but nevertheless turned his back and allowed Lance to get even closer.

“Ready?” Lance murmured, almost unaware of the crowd behind them.

Keith hesitated. “Ready,” he finally replied, his teeth worrying into his bottom lip. He forced himself to relax, faux-releasing tension from his shoulders before sending one final glance at the world behind him, and fell.

Lance caught him, realized Keith had much more muscle than anyone could’ve anticipated, and panicked when he could feel his arms giving out. He counted to three in his head, then hauled up with all of his strength.

Keith’s eyes snapped open. “Hey!” he yelled. “You’re dropping me!”

“I… I can’t,” Lance huffed, but there wasn’t anything Keith could do since he was the one unbalanced.

“Put me on the ground!”

Lance began the attempt to ease Keith onto the ground, taking a small step back to set his head down, only to trip and land directly on Keith, his face near Keith’s ass, and his knee firmly planted in Keith’s chest. He felt his foot connect with something hard, heard a loud _thump!_ A quick look down told him exactly what he already knew. His foot had kicked Keith’s head into the ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Catch me on tumblr with my new saved URL, babyhandsmcclain.


	5. The lights are on and everybody's home

“Keith?” a voice called, the tone rich and velvety like chocolate. Someone he knew, he was sure, but he didn’t remember how he knew them or what they knew about him‒ a question he’d had to ask himself many times during his many foster homes. How much did you know, and can you help hide it or are you more interested in the entertainment value? It took a lot for Keith to trust someone, and the few times he did, he’d learned very quickly why he shouldn’t.

A finger prodded him gently, his cheek felt the uncomfortable feeling of being pulled open, and cold air rushed in to fill Keith’s mouth. “He should be fine,” a different voice said, this one deep and calm and collected‒ Keith also knew this voice‒ “but it might be best to just let him sleep.”

“If that’s what you think‒” A new voice, prettier and more mellifluous.

“Let him sleep?” the first voice sounded anxious, and Keith wanted to say something, to reassure the owner that he was fine, but the pounding in his head drowned out any attempts he might’ve made. “Isn’t the first cardinal rule of concussions that you don’t let them sleep?”

“Wake them up every two hours. ”

“Wake them up every two hours, fine. Let’s wake him up _now_ , and then let him go back to sleep.”

“Although isn’t that a myth?” The mellifluous voice. "I read you should wake them up periodically, but not necessarily every two hours."

The calm voice returned, this time with pressure underlying it. “Either way. Lance, you have to understand, we don’t know how bad it is. You dropped him.”

“I didn’t mean to!” There was anguish in the first voice again‒ Lance, Keith thought, a glimmer of memory shining through.

“And then you fell on him,” the higher pitched melodic voice added.

There was a squawk of protest, and then he felt two hands clap his cheeks together. “Wake up, Keith! Wake up!” The two other voices scolded the loud one, but they were ignored.

Suddenly Keith hated that rich and warm voice. He felt his eyelids peel open and realized he could move, as long as he moved slowly enough that his head didn’t renege on the whole motion agreement.

“Hey, hey! He’s waking up! Told you, Shiro,” Lance sounded smug. Shiro just raised one eyebrow and let it fall, choosing to ignore the bait and instead go over to where Allura was standing.

“Ow,” Keith muttered. As far as words went, it wasn’t much, but the effect it had on Lance was staggering.

“Keith!” he cried.

“Ow, yeah. Shut up.” Four words, he thought. Progress. He glanced over to where Shiro was, unsurprised to see him already heading back over to the couch.

The couch hissed as Shiro sat down, a cotton ball held between his index finger and thumb. “Hey, Keith.”

“What happened?” He was basically whispering but talking any louder made his head feel like an anvil trying to strangle it.

Shiro smiled sympathetically. “You don’t remember? Not surprising, considering what happened.”

Keith glared at Lance, ignoring the daggers of pain it sent through him. “You let me fall?” he accused.

Lance looked hurt. “No!”

“He didn’t,” Shiro confirmed. “But, you _were_ heavier than he thought, so he tried to lift you back into standing. You yelled at him to just put you on the ground, since it was clear he couldn’t stand you up, but he tripped over nothing‒”

“Something!” Lance interjected.

“‒Nothing,” Shiro continued, unruffled. “And he fell face first onto you, which smacked your head right into the ground, just hard enough for you to pass out. We brought you to Allura’s office to check you out. You’ve got a slight concussion, nothing too serious, don’t worry.”

Allura came closer to where Keith was lying. “I’m so sorry, Keith,” she said, wringing her hands with worry. “This is entirely my fault. Next time I devise an exercise that involves others, I’ll be sure to consider Lance’s lack of coordination.”

He waved her off. “S’okay, don’t worry about it.” His arm felt hugely heavy and like it was swimming through molasses. Weird. 

Shiro began dabbing at Keith’s face with the cotton ball, and he felt the familiar sting of disinfectant. His cheek felt raw, and he could feel a bruise already starting to form.

“Am I… Am I cut?”

Shiro hummed. “Lance’s shoe must’ve hit you on the face.”

“I can’t believe he let me fall,” Keith murmured, before realizing he could actually say it to Lance’s face. “I can’t believe you let me fall.”

Lance flushed. “I didn’t _let you_  I caught you but your stupid mullet was probably weighing you down, and you’re the one who told me to put you on the ground anyway! If anything this is your fault!”

Keith glared at him. “My fault? I‒”

“Boys!” Allura cut in. “It’s neither’s fault. No one intended for Keith to be hurt. Nevertheless, he is, and so both of you are excused for the rest of the day. No need to finish your paperwork. Hunk as well.”

“Excused?” Lance and Keith echoed.

She nodded. “Hunk too.” She turned to Lance. “Perhaps you and Hunk can care for Keith until he’s feeling well again.”

“But, Allura, entirely excused? What about the team?” Lance let out a groan at Keith’s words.

She smiled. “Technically, Lance did catch you, Keith, so the trust exercise is complete either way. In the, ah, light of recent events, it was unanimously agreed that everyone felt bonded over the newspapers, and there was no need for the take away game.”

“By which she means,” Lance whispered to Keith conspiratorially, all thoughts of their bickering forgotten, “Coran made her put a stop to it after our disastrous exercise, and she didn't want to lose at the take away game again.”

Allura sent him a withering look that didn’t at all fit in with her person. “Would you like me to have just Hunk take care of Keith?”

“No, no! Day off with no paperwork for me sounds good.”

“For taking care of Keith,” Allura corrected.

A pained noise escaped Keith’s lips. “Does Lance have to be one of my caretakers?”

She pursed her lips at him. “Of course. Bring the case file with you three, and give it a look. If you find anything, you may explore it when Keith is fully recovered.”

Lance yelped and smacked his head comically. “The case! Shit!”

“What about it?” Two identical expressions asked in unison.

“We were supposed to go see a witness about a lead! That’s where we were going before you started a bonding exercise.”

“There’s still time, right?” Keith asked. “We can go right now…”

“Absolutely not, Keith,” Shiro said firmly. “Lance and Hunk can take care of it themselves.”

“Um, no, Lance and Hunk cannot take care of anything right now.” Lance’s voice was flat and oddly affected, and he fiddled with his phone.

“What?” Shiro said, at the same time Allura’s “Why not?” came in.

He turned his phone around. 6:00pm flashed back at them in bright white. Too bright. Ouch. “It’s too late, so I guess either way we’re waiting for you, Keithy boy.”

“Don’t call me that,” Keith said irritably.

Meanwhile, Shiro and Allura had begun murmuring among each other. Keith caught snatches of their conversation:

“Does that mean everyone’s already gone home?”

“Allura, I don’t think anyone would stick around until six.”

“I hadn’t realized so much time had passed‒”

“You were focused on Keith,” he told her gently, rubbing one of her arms with his. She smiled up at him, her cheeks pink, and Keith felt like he should face the other way, he shouldn’t be watching this.

Lance came up to him. “C’mon, Keith, wanna go home? I’ll help you up.”

“I’m not an invalid,” he snapped, sitting up. The head pounding got louder and Keith felt his stomach roiling in protest‒

Just in time, a wastebasket was shoved in between his legs, just as Keith violently retched up everything he’d eaten that morning.

“Sure you’re not,” Lance said with equanimity, sliding an arm beneath Keith’s shoulders and starting to pull. Keith let him, despite his earlier words; the warmth that Lance emanated was reassuring. Plus, he really couldn’t stand. His legs were shaky and unstable, and he hated needing help, but goddamn it if he didn’t lean on Lance a lot more than he would’ve wanted to.  The two of them left Shiro and Allura in the office, and a surprised Hunk found them outside.

“Hunk? What are you doing here?” Lance peered at his friend questioningly.

“Waiting for you guys, of course! I didn’t think I should just barge in, so I just waited here and played a couple games of Tetris, modified my GamePak so that Expert was the easiest level, and there were new harder levels for me to try‒”

“Okay,” Lance interrupted. “We need bring Keith somewhere and take care of him until this concussion blows over.”

“Dude, you gave him a concussion? Lance!” Hunk looked horrified on Keith’s behalf.

Lance ignored this. “Your place or mine?”

“We can’t stay at mine because Shay’s family is coming over soon and she just finished deep-cleaning it, so if you get it dirty, she’ll kill us. Why not yours? You’ve got the kickass coffee machine. ”

“Mine’s got that smell I can’t get rid of though!” Lance protested.

Keith asked, “How about I go home?” He was totally ignored.

Hunk rolled his eyes. “You can get rid of it when you actually do your dishes, you know,” he told Lance, reaching for his bag.

“It’s not my fault Pidge won’t do them…” Lance said sadly.

“Why don’t I go to my place?” interjected Keith, really unwilling to stay at Lance’s house for any period of time, ever. He liked his home, and would prefer to stay there, on his own. All recovering including was sleeping it off and taking the occasional Advil, right?

“You’re the patient! You can’t be at your own house while we’re… doctoring you! My place it is, then. Besides, my place _does_ have a kickass coffee machine.”

Hunk snorted. “It better, if Pidge is living there.” He picked up the keys to the squad car, and they made their way outside. As far as Keith could tell, both of them usually took the subway to work, but tonight they were clearly not going to let him onto public transportation until he was okay. At least it was a short trip, Keith sighed.

“Fine,” Keith said noncommittally, tired of arguing. He was a fighter, sure, but normally he didn’t have the incredibly painful jackhammer in his head. “Just, take me there, because I’m so tired I could fall asleep right now.”

Lance smirked. “Here in my arms? ” Keith made a solemn vow to himself to never speak to Lance again, ever. “That’s okay, Keith, I won’t make fun of you. Much.”

Keith send him a sour look. “You live with Pidge?” Keith remembered, curiosity getting the better of his recent vows, but also desperate for a change of subject. Luckily, the trio also arrived to the Lance's apartment as he asked his question, which provided a change that helped the subject move along.

“Live with, forced to live with… They’re all the same thing,” Lance told him, his eyes twinkling with humor. Keith sent him a questioning look, and Lance sighed. “Yeah, Pidge was looking to get out of her brother Matt’s apartment, and I offered to let her stay with me for a while until she found a nice place. Real estate’s a bitch around here, you know? I get it, I just wish she would do dishes.”

“Why don’t you just ask her?”

Hunk let out such a loud guffaw that Lance winced. “Shut up, Hunk,” he muttered, flashing a glare at his laughing friend.

“Lance… Lance won’t ask her because he’s scared,” Hunk managed to wheeze out, sputtering out words between his laughs. “He’s scared she’ll kick his ass ten ways to Sunday.”

Lance kicked at the floor resentfully. “She would! She’d kick it and then prove that she kicked it, and I’d never live it down. D’rather just leave them there than have an ass-kicking courtesy of my short friend who’s like 98 pounds soaking wet.”

With no small amount of glee, Hunk told Keith, “One time, we all got new equipment, and Shiro let Pidge pick one, even though she’s not technically supposed to get anything, and‒”

“No!” Lance said, slapping a hand over Hunk’s mouth as best he could. Unfortunately the small movement caused Keith to jolt forward with him, and he inhaled sharply, doing his best to minimize the pain. Lance sent him a guilty look, clearly not intending to hurt Keith. “Shit, Keith, I’m sorry, I just… Hunk, don’t tell that story.”

“It would make _me_ feel better,” Keith said manipulatively. He played on Lance’s guilt-stricken face, knowing he wasn’t likely to say no.

Lance stepped back from Hunk’s face, gently easing Keith with him. “Fine,” he said, shoulders slumped.

“Anyway,” Hunk said, as if there’d been no interruption. “Shiro lets Pidge pick something, and she chooses this cute non-lethal taser. For her protection, y’know? Shiro’s ecstatic because before then, Pidge had just been talking about getting her gun license, and no one wants Pidge with a gun, for obvious reasons. But then Lance decides he just _has_ to make fun of her. He goes up to her and says, ‘Aw, you got a cute little taser, didn’t ya?’ and Pidge just shocks him.” Hunk dissolved into more laughter.

Lance made a noise.

“She just _destroys_ him, right in front of everyone, and then without missing a beat she replies, ‘Yeah, it is pretty cute.’” Hunk took a deep breath, trying to regain his oxygen. “Everyone, and I mean the whole squadron, starts clapping and cheering her on, Shiro is having his gut busted because of how hard he’s laughing, and no one pays any attention to Lance, who’s just been lying on the floor the whole time.”

Lance’s ears turned red. Keith snorted, and before he knew it, a huge laugh roared out of him. He clutched onto Lance for support, linking his hands behind Lance’s neck, and exploded with the force of his laughter.

It hurt to laugh, it really did. Keith’s head wanted him to be quiet, but he couldn’t quite stop laughing, especially not when he saw the pout Lance was giving to Hunk. Once he saw that, it was over. Bury him then and there, because he was going to die from a lack of oxygen. He’d never laughed this hard in his life, and it was over something he’d normally consider so stupid. Maybe it was the concussion? Keith looked at Lance’s lips again, the way they formed a pout even as he talked, a whined “Hunk” escaping his lips as Hunk caught the laughter contagion and began wheezing for air once more.

Finally the laughter settled, Lance having given up on chastising Hunk and instead just waiting for the two of them to stop their attack. He watched Keith was friendly eyes, and briefly Keith wondered why he wasn’t being told to stop laughing. Maybe Lance had accepted his fate. Once Keith sputtered out the last few remnants of his laugh, Lance slowly shuffled them to the door.

“Hunk,” Lance called, glancing at the boy leaning against the wall, gasping for air still. “Keys.”

Shakily, Hunk pulled them out of his pocket and tossed. Lance fielded them like a pro, one long arm reaching out and plucking it from the air. He unlocked the door and eased Keith through, surprisingly gentle for someone who hated Keith and the way he’d just stolen Lance’s glory.

“Come in when you’re done laughing at my pain!” Lance called down to Hunk just before the door shut between them. “‘Kay, so, here’s the living room‒ Pidge sleeps on the couch, it pulls out, I dunno where she’s at, but she should be back soon‒ then we have the kitchen, and down this really short hallway is my room and the bathroom. That’s where you’ll be. I’ll just set you down and go find some food that you can eat, alright?” Lance gave him a quick rundown on the apartment layout and Keith found himself sitting on a bed in a room _crammed_ with shit. If it wasn’t clothes that Lance hastily threw in a hamper, muttering excuses about laundry day, it was photos messily tacked onto the walls. Pictures and pictures of the same people, who all shared Lance’s eyes and easy, wide grin. Lance featured in some of them, but a vast majority didn’t have him in it. A woman with a long brown braid and a caramel face featured most prominently, her eyes‒ Lance’s eyes‒ shining brightly, and Keith instantly knew this woman was Lance’s mother. He tried searching for someone who could be Lance’s father, only finding a few photos of him scattered around, always not as smiley as the rest.

“Why aren’t there a lot of pictures of your dad?” he asked, interrupting a monologue on how the sheets were clean, Lance swore, they just smelled weird because of a bad combination of laundry detergent and dryer sheets.

Lance dimmed. “He just doesn’t like smiling. Or pictures. Those are the only ones I could get,” he replied, his eyes flitting from object to object in the room, never settling on one thing.

Keith saw this and realized he needed a new subject. “You’ve got your mom’s eyes,” he told Lance uncertainly. He wasn’t sure how Lance would respond, but he should’ve figured‒ the man in question was nothing if not unflappable and resilient.

“You think? She always said that but mine don’t have the ring of gold around them that hers do and I never really liked mine‒ they’re too dark and everyone always said, y’know, what’s a Cuban guy like me doing with blue eyes, but my mamá, she said they made us special, that we were all lucky to have inherited her favorite thing about my dad. Except my littlest sister, Julia, she used to cry all the time because she didn’t have the blue eyes, until my mamá told her that she inherited all of my father’s soul and spirit and passion and‒”

Keith watched Lance talk, watched him ramble and go on and on about his family. His entire face was lit up in a way that it hadn’t been before, as if the love he had for his family just poured out of his fingertips and toes. His expressions were more animated. While nothing about Lance had been dim or despondent, this was a whole new level of him. All of it was so interesting, the way Lance remembered things about them so easily, going on tangents about everything but always coming back to the main point: that he loved them. Keith felt a slight twinge of envy. He hadn’t had a family growing up. At best, distant foster families who gave him a set of rules and a roof. At worst, foster families who took too much interest and decided to mold Keith to fit their ideals of a good son. He didn’t remember anything about any of them, and he was glad.

Lance abruptly shut his mouth. “Sorry,” he muttered, ducking his head down. “I didn’t… I’m sorry… I just ramble a lot and usually people tell me to shut up and I just… Sorry.” He rubbed the back of his neck self-consciously, obviously berating himself for talking Keith’s ear off, but Keith found himself smiling.

“It’s okay,” he told him, patting the bed. It wasn’t really his to be _allowing_ Lance to sit, but whatever! Injured people get special exemptions. “I liked hearing about it.”

“Yeah?” Lance asked, in what Keith suspected was a shy tone, but that notion was so wildly _not-Lance_ that he dismissed it.

Part of him still thought Lance was shy. Insecure. Confident in everything but himself.

“Yeah,” Keith affirmed. “Your family…” he trailed off, hesitating. “They sound nice. They sound like they love you a lot.”

Lance nodded. “What about your parents? What are they like?”

Keith looked away. “They’re, uh… They’re dead.” He didn’t know what else to say, but he knew that his emotions would cloud his face, and he didn’t want anyone to see him like that. Not anymore. He couldn’t take another pitying look, another “I’m sorry” that didn’t do anything to bring back his parents. As if two words repeated over and over could make up for a lifetime of loneliness. As if he fucking cared.

He felt a touch on his knee, and quickly glanced over to see Lance watching him, biting his lip self-consciously. “Hey,” Lance said. “I…” Here it comes, Keith thought. Lance took a deep breath. “You want some Rocky Road? I’ve got an extra pint in the freezer, and since you’re sick and all, thanks to me, I thought maybe ice cream would be good for the brain?”

Keith blinked at him, once, twice. “How would ice cream help my brain?”

Lance grinned. “Aw, come on, think about it! Your head hurts, so you eat ice cream really fast, brain freeze, boom! Instant headache remover. Like an ice pack for your brain.”

“I’m not sure that’s how it works.”

“Course it is! C’mon, let’s see if we can’t get Hunk to make us a kickass dinner to go with the Rocky Road.” Lance marched out of the bedroom, Keith following, and the two of them made their way to the kitchen. Hunk was standing there, an apron on, whistling cheerfully to himself as he flipped some sort of meat in a pan. “Oh good, you’re in. I was worried you were going to die in the hallway with how hard you were laughing at me.” He spied what was in the pan. “Ooh, don’t tell me. You’re gonna make me forgive you with some of your amazing paella.” Turning to Keith, Lance added, “Hunk makes some fucking amazing paella. It’s the saffron, I’m sure, but he won’t tell me. Stubborn little shit.”

Hunk smiled indulgently. “I can’t just give away trade secrets, then what you would need me for?”

“Constant and continuous deflation of my self-esteem?” Lance deadpanned. He went to the freezer and yanked out two pints of ice cream, handing one and a spoon to Keith.

“I don’t think anyone is quite up to that task yet,” Hunk teased. “You’re almost out of milk, by the way.”

“Aw, really?” Lance complained. “I just bought that gallon too. Stupid Pidge and her experiments with lactose intolerance.” Keith ate his ice cream, ignoring his own lactose intolerance silently. It was something he’d come to know, the familiar pain of eating dairy, especially because everything he loved had lactose in it. How else was he supposed to eat his cereal? His cookies? Were they supposed to be milkless? Keith wasn’t a monster, so he drank milk.

The conversation had changed while he was focusing on his ice cream. “I don’t live here anymore, Lance, I can’t keep reminding you what to buy.” In spite of his own words, Hunk slid a notepad with the words “Shopping list” written on it in bold clear handwriting, one side filled with an arrow pointing to the back.

Lance hummed around a bite of Rocky Road ice cream. “You’re the best. I love you. Have I told you I love you?”

“You just want me to make extra paella for leftovers.”

“Damn straight I do.”

One delicious paella meal later‒ Keith had to agree, this was some goddamn amazing paella, and he tasted the saffron that was obviously the secret ingredient, but like hell he would tell Lance‒ it was time for bed. Keith’s head had been sledgehammering away the entire dinner, but he wasn’t about to ruin the nice camaraderie the three of them were sharing. The sounds of laughter and the feeling of being included were things Keith didn’t take for granted anymore. As much as he liked solitude, there was something about the warmth that came with friends. Something that Keith had been missing, but hadn’t realized it was gone. A puzzle piece, snapping into place, making him see the big picture was so much more than he could’ve imagined.

After saying goodbye to Hunk, who made Keith swear that he wouldn’t let Lance bully him out of his fair share of leftovers, Lance led Keith to the bedroom and made sure he was settled in for the night.

“Okay,” Lance was saying, “so we’ve got blankets in the closet just in case, but I think you’ll be fine with the ones I’ve got on the bed. The bathroom is through here, so you can change and everything. Feel free to take a shower, although you don’t have any clothes on you, you don’t have pajamas either, though, hmm.” Lance rummaged through a drawer before handing Keith a pile of clothes. “Here,” he told him. “Some pajamas. Can’t be easy wearing the same clothes to bed.” Keith flushed at that; it was almost like Lance knew that Keith regularly slept in the same clothes he’d worn in the day, shoes and all. “Let me just duck into the bathroom really quick, and then you can sleep.”

While Lance did his nightly ablutions in the bathroom, Keith quickly changed into the pajamas, even going so far as to take his shoes off. Weird. Did people like the feeling of the floor beneath them, no protection against nails or splinters? He was wearing socks but splinters could still poke through. What if the smoke alarm went off at night? Did people go outside with no shoes on, or did they risk death to put on shoes? He stood there, peering at the floor, thinking about all the nightmarish accidents that could happen just with his shoes off, when Lance finally came out of the bathroom, quickly grabbing at items on the nightstand.

“I replaced the toilet paper roll, so don’t worry about that, if you gotta take a dump, just do it, you’re no better than me, mullet-man, so…” he trailed off. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Keith had no clue who the man in front of him was. It was Lance, but… with green goop on his face? Headphones loosely wrapped around his neck, an eye mask dangling from one finger, robe billowing in the air conditioned breeze. It was so ridiculous and so utterly Lance that Keith almost burst out laughing, but decided against it. Lance hadn’t really liked when he and Hunk were laughing earlier, so maybe it was better to just pretend he hadn’t noticed. After all, he was a guest in Lance’s house. Because of Allura, Keith amended, remembering he hadn’t wanted or chosen this. They’d only brought him here because Allura made them feel obligated to. While he couldn’t deny it was nice and pleasant to actually feel like a team member‒ Lance had dropped their stupid rivalry when he’d gotten concussed, claiming Keith couldn’t possibly keep up while injured-- he still would’ve preferred his own home, with his own clothes and stuff. Lance’s pants fit him weird; he’d had to roll them up at the ankles a little to make sure he didn’t trip over them. The shirt bunched over his shoulders‒ he had nowhere near the amount of broadness that Lance did‒ and fit tightly around his wrist, but fit much more loosely in between those two areas. Keith was impossible to dress, it seemed, thanks to his lithe frame.

Eventually he realized he’d just been staring at Lance, and abruptly looked away, a light blush spreading across his cheeks. He cleared his throat. “Bed?” he said, the word coming out strangled.

“Yeah,” Lance said slowly, eyeing Keith. “You climb in and I’ll turn the light out for you, no worries.” He muttered something under his breath, and Keith just barely caught the end of it: “kept you up so late”.

Though he desperately wanted to be asleep, Keith purposely moved unhurried to Lance’s bed to avoid adding to Lance’s guilt over keeping him awake. “Where will you sleep?”

Lance waved a hand flippantly. “Ah, don’t worry about me. The important thing is that you get rest, so Allura doesn’t kick my ass about dropping you.” He turned off the lights, halting his movements at the doorway. “Also, we’re sleeping in. Late morning, breakfast at Denny’s‒ all that good stuff. I already told Hunk.” He left the room, footsteps receding down the hallway.

Keith listened to him leave, still curious as to where he was going to sleep, but also extremely aware of the pain, now that there was no laughter to stop it. He stared at the ceiling, noting that there were glow-in-the-dark stars stuck to it. He counted them. As a kid, he’d never felt like anywhere was home enough to stick something permanent to them. He supposed this didn’t count; after all, you could unstick glow in the dark stars. But there was something permanent and utterly secure in sticking them. It was like a lighthouse to anyone around you, pulsing _this is home, this is where I will come back every night to look at them, this is where I feel safe._ The envy washed over him again. Closing his eyes, though, he could see Lance carefully sticking his stars on the ceiling, forming his favorite constellations‒ Keith had seen Ursa Major and Pisces‒ falling asleep and dreaming about the stars, space, and a place to belong. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was a star kid when I was younger, and like every other star kid on this planet, I had glow in the dark stars. I didn't put them into any constellations, but they always reminded me that there was more out there. I like to think Lance loves them for that same reason too.


	6. The only thing suicidal here is the door

Hunk sauntered in the door. “Hey, Lance, are you awake yet? It’s almost‒” he cut off when he saw where Lance was lying. “Are you on the floor?” He shook his head wildly. “Wait a sec, am I still dreaming? I’m still dreaming, right? There’s no way you slept on the floor.”

“Shut up, asshole,” Lance groaned, sitting up painfully. He struggled to take off his eye mask and glared at Hunk, but the effect was lost thanks to the face mask that coated him. Coated him, and had gotten comically patterned thanks to Lance’s butt-ugly carpeting. Next paycheck, he was definitely upgrading this to something else. Something softer. “I wasn’t going to take the futon, I didn’t know when Pidge would be back.”

“She’s still not here, huh?”

He sighed. “No. I think she spent the night at work again.” He bit the inside of his cheek worriedly. He hadn’t wanted to take the futon because he was hoping Pidge would be back to at least sleep. Lance should’ve known better. Pidge always got like this whenever something eluded her, but it was never this bad. He’d only known her to spend the night at work one time before‒ when Shiro had gotten shot during a drug bust, but the shooter managed to escape. Pidge had been so furious, full of so much rage the only thing she was capable of doing was screaming wordlessly at whoever interrupted her work. When they finally caught the guy, it had taken Lance, Hunk, and Allura just to get Pidge off of him. To be honest, Lance was pretty sure they’d all waited a bit longer than they were supposed to, letting Pidge get in even more revenge. But either way, it wasn’t a good sign that Pidge hadn’t come home.

Suddenly, there was a noise at the hallway leading to Lance’s room. Hunk brightened. “Keith! How’s your head?”

Keith yawned, hands coming up to cover his mouth. “Better, I think. Not as much pounding and vomit, so…” He took stock of the room and noted that Lance was on the ground. “Hey, you didn’t sleep there right?”

“No!” Lance scrambled to his feet. “No, I just… fell when Hunk came in the room. So clumsy of me.” He laughed, but it was too loud, too awkward. Keith lowered his hands from where they had frozen near his mouth, staring. What the fuck was wrong with Lance? What a weird person. “Ookay! Moving on, everyone be ready in forty minutes, because we’re going to hit up Denny’s, and then find the our witness! Go go go!”

“Lance, you’re the only one who needs that long to get ready,” Hunk pointed out.

“Fine, fine! Everyone be ready in 20, I’m skipping my usual routine.” With those words, Lance flounced out of the room.

“What the hell is his usual routine?” He heard Keith ask Hunk.

“If I knew that, I would tell you,” he heard Hunk reply. “Actually, if _you_ knew that, I would tell you the secret to my paella.”

“I heard that!” Lance screeched, slamming the bathroom door shut and jumping in the shower. He turned it on, instantly regretting his decision to jump in first thing, as all it led to was five minutes of him in the corner that no water ever touched, nursing a frostbitten hand before the water finally warmed up. He scrubbed himself clean, finally washing off the warped mask he’d been wearing. Lance started humming a tune as he shampooed and conditioned, just a casual tune that exploded into song very quickly.

 _Suerte_ _que es tener labios sinceros_

_Para besarte con mas ganas_

_Suerte que mis pechos sean pequeños_

_Y nos los confundas con montañas_

_Suerte que herede las piernas firmes_

_Para correr si un día hace falta_

_Y estos dos ojos que me dicen_

_Que he de llorar cuando te vallas_

_Le ro lo le lo le_

_Le ro lo le lo le_

_Sabes que estoy a tus pies_

He sang to himself, mostly keeping it contained until he hit the chorus. This was around the time that his siblings would join in from the other side of the bathroom wall, each one chanting the lyrics with him until his mama told them to be quiet. Lance put the extra emphasis the last line required before he couldn’t keep it quiet anymore‒

_Contigo, mi vida_

_Quiero vivir la vida_

_Y lo que me queda de vida_

_Quiero vivir contigo_

_Y sabes mi vida_

_Estoy hasta el cuello por ti_

_Si sientes algo asi_

_Quiero que te quieres junto a mi_

He shimmied in his shower, yanking the lever down and spinning out into a towel. Lance briskly rubbed himself dry, still singing the song as best he could. He wrapped his hair up and danced out of the bathroom, out of his bedroom, and down to the living room.

Hunk looked totally unsurprised, sitting on the futon, casually eating a leftover poptart Lance had. Keith appeared to be warring between amusement and disgust.

“What’s that face for?” Lance asked. He made a beeline for Hunk and stole a chunk of Poptart. He popped it in his mouth. Strawberry. It wasn’t his favorite‒ that honor belonged to the S'mores flavor-- but it would do.

“I… just... “ Keith’s brain seemed totally fried. “I‒ you‒ I… Shakira?” He finally landed on a topic, but it didn’t feel like Keith was really aware of what he was doing, more like he just needed to ask that question the most urgently, so his brain spat it out.

Lance was aghast. “Shakira is classic! Don’t you dare,” he told Keith, one finger pointed in semi-joking manner. “She knows my hips don’t lie. She just _knows_.”

“Dude, leave it,” Hunk advised Keith. “You can tell him Gasolina is a classic and he’ll pout for hours until you let him play Laundry Service on repeat.”

“Et tu, Hunk? I thought you loved Laundry Service! And I never said Gasolina wasn’t a classic.” Lance unwound his head from the towel, running his fingers through it over and over until it was back to its normal fluffy mess.

“It was great the first twelve times. Now that I can recite the Spanish lyrics with you, it’s just weird, because I have no clue what I’m saying.”

“So what song was he singing?” Keith asked, looking at Hunk for answers.

“Suerte. It’s the Spanish version of Wherever, Whenever,” Hunk told him, finally standing up from where he’d been lazing on the couch. “Don’t feel bad; at least you knew it was Shakira.”

Lance made a face and stuck his hands in his pockets. Before Keith could open his mouth, he said, “We ready for Denny’s now that we’re all done being rude to me over my amazing musical taste?” He stuck his tongue out at Hunk. “I’m looking at you, Brutus.”

Hunk laughed and guided the two of them out the door.

One satisfying breakfast at IHOP later‒ the Denny’s near them was closed for renovation, much to Lance’s chagrin‒ the team were on their way to the witness’s house. Lance had brought along the case file, and thus they could go see the witness without delay. No random team bonding to stop them.

On the way, Lance briefed the team. “Hunk, you stand in the hallway and guard it, I’ll walk in and check.”

“What about me?” Keith whispered harshly, a little upset about being left out. How much more camaraderie did it take to become a trusted teammate with these guys? Jesus Christ, Keith could only handle so much socializing in his life. There was a limit and he was quickly reaching it. Spending so much time with Lance and Hunk was like an endurance race. There was only so much you could do before your body gave up. Lance was a handful on his own, but Hunk was a foil that provided much of the impulse control on someone that Keith was sure didn’t actually know what control really was. If Hunk relaxed for even a second, Lance was apt to do something Keith was sure to find absolutely horrifying. And funny. But mostly horrifying, he was sure.

Lance told him, “In the apartment with me, but remember, we’re just asking if it’s cool to come in. So keep your mouth shut, hothead.”

Keith opened his mouth to protest that he wasn’t the one who had a hothead about this case, but Lance was already up and knocking on the door. “Police, open up!” The lack of a response made Lance bang harder. Hunk came forward and stopped Lance from hitting the door in pure frustration at no answer. A man appeared in the entrance of the apartment hallways. His hair was white, like Shiro’s except not as cool, Lance thought, and his nose was long and sharply pointed.

“Can I help you?” he asked, not moving from his spot.

Lance cried, “Yes! We’re looking for the people who live here. Do you know what happened to them, what time they’ll be back?”

“I am the building super,” the man told them, “and they won’t be back. They moved out three weeks ago.”

“What?” they said in unison.

“Three weeks ago?” Hunk asked.

“Do you know where they went?” Lance demanded at the same time.

“ _You’re_ the building super?” Keith said derisively.

The man just turned and walked away. “Yup. Checking the apartment over. You can follow me if you want answers, but this is your only chance.”

Lance darted after him first. He wasn’t about to let the next lucky break slip through his fingers like that. The man was strange, and his words about this being their only chance were false‒ Lance could get a warrant if he needed to‒ but an investigation with cooperative leads was so much easier to solve than one without it. He followed the man straight into the his apartment, Keith and Hunk hot on his heels.

“This is where I live,” the building super told them. “My name’s Rolo.” A woman with blonde hair walked by, holding a small baby in her arms. She looked at the group of officers briefly but was disinterested “That’s Nyma and Beezer.” Lance bit his lip at the baby’s name‒ Hunk sent him a concerned look; he knew Lance wanted to laugh, and that it would most likely ruin any chance they had with Rolo‒ but decided to let it slide. Rolo led them to the living room where they all took couch seats.

Keith was the first one to talk. “What happened to them?”

Rolo looked bored. “I told you,” he said to Keith, “they moved.”

“Where?” Lance was ready to burst with the force of his question.

“Don’t know.”

“Could you know?” Lance persisted.

Rolo sat back, a satisfied grin spreading across his face. “Maybe. If I had the right kind of memory booster.”

“I got an energy bar if you need help, man,” Hunk said, patting his pockets. “Know it’s in here somewhere.”

“What do you want?” Keith demanded, hands clenching on his knees.

“Some kind of cash flow, if you wouldn’t mind. Being a building super doesn’t exactly pay well, and Beezer isn’t the easiest kid to take care of.” Rolo shrugged. “A little something to jog my memory.”

This was a language Keith understood. Shady dealings, back alleys with shadowed figures delivering stolen goods to anyone with money. The wary feeling brought by the way everything was handled. Wondering if you were getting what you asked for, and the worry that it wasn’t, unable to check‒ never check the bag until after you leave, never let your guard down until there’s four walls and you can see the only exit. The unimaginable relief when you realized it was, the unimaginable terror when it wasn’t. Back alleys don’t have a return policy. Keith had learned that just before his dad died.

Keith slid money out of his wallet. “A Jackson?”

“Franklin.” Rolo didn’t even glance in Keith’s direction, still lazily sitting on the other couch. Keith bit back his words and handed Rolo the bigger bill.

Lance moved as if shocked. He seemed to be holding back words as well, waiting to see what would happen after Rolo had received payment. For the best, Hunk also had chosen to let Keith continue. Both of them realized that they were out of their league, that this was something only understood by someone who had lived it. Keith had. Lance vowed to learn when and how.

Once Rolo pocketed the money, he opened up. To nothing. “Can’t say I know anything about that. Sorry to have wasted your time.” He smirked.

Even Hunk wanted to deck him. All three of the boys’ hands were clenched into fists, but Rolo still seemed at ease. Lance’s eyes were darting around wildly, unsure of what he was looking for, but looking around regardless, taking in everything they saw.

“Rolo!” Nyma called from the other room. “Take Beezer, he’s crying and I’m on the phone.”

Rolo sighed but got up. “Feel free to see yourselves out, gentlemen.” He left the room, a wide, loping stride marking his exit.

An easy grin spread across Lance’s face. “What is it?” Hunk asked. It was one of those critical moments, he knew. The ones that made the cases Lance had solved on pure talent alone.

“He’s got a cabinet over there. Whaddaya wanna bet it’s full of information about the apartments? And all the tenants that have lived there before.” Lance let out a quiet laugh. “C’mon, I’ll betcha ten dollars, Hunk.” Hunk pursed his lips at lips, a clear no. Lance turned to Keith. “What about you, hothead? Betcha twenty.”

Keith surged. He was still angry about being tricked. “I bet it’s full of _junk_. This was a scam!”

“Full of info~” Lance sing songed, making his way to the file cabinet.

“It’s just a scam, Lance. It was a fucking _scam_. You’re just going to get us in trouble over nothing.”

“I hate to agree with Keith,” Hunk said, “but we _are_ going to get in trouble if they come back and see you.” Lance looked scandalized at Hunk’s words. “But I trust you.” he said, yielding to what he knew were Lance’s innate instincts.

Lance slipped a bobby pin in and played with the lock on it for a minute. He gave them a thumbs up when he drawer popped open with a soft _click_. “My sisters taught me that,” he whispered. He rifled through the folders, seizing one just moments before he heard footsteps nearing the living room.

“Go!” Hunk urged, and they bolted across the room, just barely making it out the door before Rolo appeared with Beezer in his arms.

Rolo frowned at the door closing. He’d thought them long gone. Fear gripped his gut, strangling his insides. He swiveled to check the file cabinet. A drawer, _the drawer_ , was open.

“Nyma!” Rolo shouted. “Get off the phone!” She walked in, phone in hand.

“I’m still using it,” she told him with a pout.

“I don’t care,” he snapped. “I need it. Now.”

“What happened?”

He tensed. “They got it.” At her confused look he elaborated, “The file. They got it. I need to call. Shit!” Nyma took Beezer from his arms.

“I’ll deal with Beezer,” she said quickly. “You call him _now._ ”

* * *

“Meet in the conference room in twenty,” Hunk called as the three of them fanned out onto the department floor. Keith headed to the coffee, Hunk went to grab his usual morning danish from the break room, and Lance beelined to the copier to make doubles of the folder in his hands. It was only when he was there that he realized the copier was shit.

Lance hit the copier in disgust. “Stupid machine,” he muttered under his breath, “I don’t have _time_ for this!” He crouched low to check if the paper jam was in tray 3 or if it was a cartridge of ink leaking. When his rooting around proved fruitless, Lance glanced around to find Pidge and see if she could help.  

He scanned the room. He didn’t find what he expected, but what he saw made his chest clench uncomfortably. _Everyone_ was paired off. Allura was talking with Coran, both of them laughing about some witticism he’d said, no doubt. Shiro was listening to Pidge rant, and his hand rested on her shoulder comfortingly. Even Hunk and Keith had collided at the coffee machine and were chatting amiably about something. All of Lance’s closest friends‒ paired off and no one noticed he wasn’t there. Lance’s heart tugged and he felt a knot drop into his stomach. Was he just a, a fifth wheel? A seventh wheel, if you counted his superiors?

Lance gave up on the copies and instead trudged to a storage office he went to when he needed to be alone. Fuck. He just wasn’t needed. That hurt so badly, and Lance _ached._ An all over ache, the kind that leaves you feeling exhausted and overwhelmed and like you just want to go back in bed and wait for the world to move around you. The kind of ache that felt like a black hole collapsing into your chest and sucking everything in because there just wasn’t enough of you to give‒ until you had nothing else to give.

He wrapped his arms around himself in an effort to stop the destruction from bleeding out but off-balanced enough that he dropped to his knees and wound up staring underneath a desk that hadn’t been used since the 80s. A phone was tucked in a corner, a barely taped slip of paper reading “tipline”. Apparently something the department had given up on.

But it fascinated Lance. Why hadn’t he thought of it before? All the leads they’d had meant nothing, but a _tipline_. That was better. The public would catch something they had missed, and Lance would get credit for it because it was his idea! Plus, tiplines worked, like, all the time, right? Round the clock surveillance without having to pay for it. Finally, something in Lance’s life made sense again. He was still a good detective. He could still prove his worth. He decided to set it up that very moment, forwarding all calls to voicemail so he could check them when he had time.

He organized it just so, so that no one would see it and no one could inform the others of what he had done, and then he carefully made his way to the bathroom, ensuring no one caught him leaving the storage closet, sealing his fate along the way.

* * *

Forty minutes later‒ Lance knew he was already supposed to be there but couldn’t bring himself to open the bathroom door and _leave_ ‒ the three of them crowded the folder in the conference room. Lance held his breath as he flipped it open. “Spread it out,” Keith hissed, tired of waiting. No one could ever confuse him with a patient person, that’s for sure, Hunk thought. “We can’t all see over your big ass head and your overly pointy chin.”

Lance’s face soured, but he did as Keith said, spreading the sheaf of papers across the tables. Each head pored over the ones nearest them. “Are you guys seeing what I’m seeing?” Lance asked hesitantly.

“We’re looking at different sheets of paper,” Keith deadpanned.

“The Galra,” Hunk burst, unable to wait for their bickering to dissipate. “They’re still in the city!”

“They’re developing a serum,” Keith added.

“They’ve got some weird names,” Lance said, earning him looks from the other two. “What, c’mon, you can’t tell me this isn’t weird. Zarkon? Sendak? I’ll take I hate my children for 400, Alex.” Hunk laughed, but Keith’s face darkened briefly before he schooled his expression.

“Prioritize,” Lance ordered. “What do we want to learn first? On three.” He counted down.

“Names!” They all shouted at once, and Lance nodded sagely.

“Right, we’ll do names, serum, then address? We can sic the med guys on the serum before we head out to check the address.” No one in the room wanted to say which med tech they would prefer handling the case, but they all knew it. However no one had seen or heard from her all day, and Shiro simply said she was “out”, so it seemed nearly impossible that they could give their findings to Pidge.

Lance picked up one of his pieces of paper. “Okay, names, names, names. Here’s their apartment rental application, rented out to one Emperor Zarkon, yeesh, they couldn’t tell that part was a fake name?”

“Judging from Rolo,” Keith said, “I doubt he cared about the fake name, as long as he had real money.”

“Right, but check this out.” Lance brandished the renter’s application, his index finger tapping a number pointedly. “They only paid $600 a month for that!”

“I don’t doubt it was a shithole,” Keith told him. “What’s the big deal?”

“The big deal,” Hunk interjected, “is that it means these people were doing something on the side for Rolo. You saw how he operated. People like him don’t do something for nothing, and I bet he was paid a whole lot of nothing. In fact, the minute he asked for money, I knew right away, foul play.”

“So it means they were giving him something,” Keith said slowly.

“I’d bet it’s a cut of the profits from the QNTES. No one develops a serum without a reason to, and it wasn’t to cure cancer. They’re giving him profit money.” Lance’s assessment was on the nose. Keith and Hunk stared at Lance in amazement and pride, respectively. Sometimes Hunk was so proud of how sharp Lance was. It was truly a sight to see‒ a goofy boy and an observant man in one.

They all considered this for a minute. “Continue, Lance,” Hunk said.

“Emperor Zarkon, living with one Sendak no last name, and one Haggar, also no last name. I’m willing to bet these are all fake socials too. No pets, previous housing history is blank, aaaaand,” Lance flipped to the back of the page, “no employment history either. So we’ve got fake information, just names, really.”

“It’s more than we had before,” Hunk pointed out, forcing everyone to look on the bright side. Lance sighed, knowing he was right, but hating that that was all they had after so much hard work. “You’re right,” he admitted, placing the paper on the desk carefully. He rested his chin on his hands. “Go, Keith. What’s up with this serum?”

“It’s something called QNTES?” Keith sounded out each letter for the acronym. “No real information on here at all, I guess Rolo didn’t know too much about it either. Just that it’s called QNTES, and it’s a serum they’re developing. He was probably snooping for info just like us.”

Lance frowned. “Two busts in one go. Please tell me you have more for me, Hunk?”

“Oh yeah.” Hunk nodded. “I have their forwarding address. I guess someone didn’t want to miss out on mail.” Lance brightened at that.

“Can we go right now?” he asked.

“We should check out that serum first,” Hunk told him, gathering all the papers up into one pile, stuffing them into the folder. “Once we get that started, we should probably head out, yeah.”

“Great, let’s go! Hunk, you hold the file or stick it in your drawer, I don’t care. Let’s leave the serum page with them‒ a copy, since you know those med guys are always spilling coffee on shit, I don’t care what they say, I gave them a _clean_ Rosenberg case; they’re the ones who spilled the coffee on it‒ and pray to Jesus, God, Zeus, whoever you pray to, that Pidge comes back and makes them figure their shit out.”

Hunk stuck it on the desk of someone who was hopefully a med guy with a notepad marking it urgent and thanking them for their help. He followed Lance and Keith out of the office, hot on their heels, excited about the prospect of an even bigger lead to one of their most prolific cases.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come talk to me on [Tumblr](tessagray-herondale-carstairs.tumblr.com) I love screaming and talking about Voltron! Also I love the "Lance loves Gasolina" thing, I really do... but you can't tell me he isn't the biggest Shakira fan. He totally is, and he definitely learned to move his hips like that thanks to her.


	7. We had a good run

“You sure this is the address, Hunk?” Lance asked worriedly. They’d been waiting ten minutes and no one had buzzed them up. But then again, he supposed that was to be expected. This was the Galra. What’d he think, they’d come out with their hands up and meekly let all the charges against them come to fruition?

Hunk double checked the note he’d written down for himself. He triple-checked the case file he was cradling like a child. He quadruple checked the mailbox for the apartment they were trying to see. H. Aggar. Whoever these people were, they weren’t very clever. As if no one could figure out the name was Haggar, and connect that to the idea that Sendak and Zarkon were probably based here as well. But then again, no one had figured it out yet, at least no one from their side of the force, and so he supposed their “disguises” and not-so-clever names said a lot more about the police force than it did about them as criminals. “I’m pressing it again,” he said to Lance, reaching out a finger. Before he could touch it, a voice crackled over the intercom. “Hello?” it said, whispery and husky, a deep growl emerging from the throat even as it talked. The voice was such that Hunk couldn’t even tell if it was male or female.

He was buried so deep in his thoughts that Lance pressed the button instead. “Hello. This is the Voltron Police Force, we have a few questions we’d like to ask you, can you open the door please?”

“Voltron?”

Hunk sighed. “It’s not called Voltron, sorry about that,” he said, ignoring Lance’s outburst of “That’s right, it’s the _avenging fury of Voltron,_ son!”. “We’re really officers though, and we just have a few questions to ask. Is it okay if we come in?”

The intercom crackled again, and they assumed that meant the voice would soon be letting them through the gate and apartment door. Instead of the click signaling that the gate was unlocked, the three men heard a clang of metal as the fire escape banged against the wall, a sure sign that someone was climbing down swiftly. The intercom static came on once more, and then Hunk could see someone, two someones, drop to the ground, so low he could only see their head as they ran from the building.

“They’re getting away!” he shouted to the others, scrambling to find the quickest route to the fire escape.

“Oh no they’re not!” Lance cried, using his long reach to the take the most direct path‒ directly through the buildings. He climbed to the top of the gate and flat-out _fell_ , barely catching himself on the gate’s loops. Keith followed suit but he used his quick reflexes and agility to build enough momentum to climb over instead of relying on his length.

Hunk called out, “Great idea, guys! I’ll just, go around the back and make sure he’s not trying to double around or something, ‘kay? Awesome, see you on the other side!” He took off running in the opposite direction. Why had he chosen today of all days to skip wearing a belt? He didn’t expect to be running, which was a mistake on his part clearly, and so he grasped a belt loop in each hand and ran faster. At least he’d worn his favorite boots; thick soled and tight, they helped him sprint across the unpaved streets better, protecting his feet from whatever people had just left in the street.

“Hey!” A construction worker shouted as Hunk barreled through their site without even slowing. “You’re not supposed to‒”

“It’s okay!” Hunk panted. “I’m an officer!” He didn’t have extra hands to grab his badge, he just prayed they didn’t try to stop him.

As he avoided a particularly nasty pothole, he could see Lance and Keith’s pursuit grow shorter and shorter as both of them worked together to corner the two people who had unwisely stayed together. Huh, Hunk thought. That was odd. Normally catching Big League Criminals™ was a lot harder. Lance cheered loudly as Keith tackled his person; Lance’s own handcuffed against a wall with his knee jammed in places it shouldn’t be. Keith sat on his guy, quickly snapping on a matching pair of handcuffs. He mini-bowed to Lance’s applause, smiling widely.

Maybe Rolo’s information had been wrong, he thought. Ack. Hunk winced. Now it was jinxed. If anything had happened… Hunk determinedly shook off those thoughts as he slowed to a stop in front of the four people. Lance had switched to sitting on his person, just like Keith. While Hunk wasn’t sure it was exactly ethical to use your criminal as a personal stool, he decided to let it slide. It looked like Rolo wasn’t wrong. The two people had purple hair, a clear mark of the Galra, but they lacked the yellow eyes. Maybe that was just for higher ups? Maybe it was just a night time thing. Unfortunately, they didn’t know enough about the Galra to make an informed decision then and there. Hunk found himself a little annoyed at the lack of knowledge, but quickly brushed it off.

“Hey Hunk!” Lance said brightly. “Guess who we caught!”

“I see that.” Hunk laughed.

Keith blinked up at Hunk. “Can we go now?” he said, sounding bored. “That was the easiest catch of my life.” He kicked at the guy beneath him. Hunk was confused. Keith had been smiling and laughing earlier, so why the sudden change in behavior? It was inexplicable.

“Oi, Kogane, it was the _only_ catch of your life,” Lance teased. Keith flashed a smile at him, all teeth but all sweet, before sinking his face back into the irritable mess it had been. Lance flushed, the tips of his ears going adorably red.

 _Ohhh_ , Hunk realized. Keith was just _acting_ bored, showing off in front of Lance. Maybe even trying to prove himself in some way to Hunk. Who could ever tell with Keith, the man of a million facades, always hiding behind one or ten of them? But Hunk was pretty sure Keith was trying to impress Lance, trying to build himself a home in the boy who'd created a home for everyone. 

Hunk hid his own smile. “Yeah, the car’s just in front of the apartments. A quick stroll.”

The five of them walked back, Lance and Keith bickering over who had the best pursuit. One of the men tried getting in, informing them that he hadn’t been running at his best, thus naming the other clear winner. They both told him to shut up and went back to their argument. Hunk shook his head. They were rivals just to rival. To bring the best out of each other. People did well with a muse lighting their way.

Hunk just wondered how long the foreplay would last. He wasn’t sure Lance could take it‒ as Lance’s guy went into the backseat, Keith had let out a small laugh at Lance’s latest argument, and consequently Lance had slammed his head into the roof of the car.

“S-sorry!” he cried to no one in particular. “I-I’m-I’m… sorry,” he finished, ducking his head to avoid Keith’s new laughter. He was so flustered he went in the passenger’s seat. Hunk smirked. Well _he_ wasn’t going to say anything.

Hunk stopped in his tracks to the driver’s seat. Why was Keith just… standing there? Staring at the… _oh._ With the perps in the backseat, here was no room. “Sit on Lance’s lap,” he offered helpfully before he climbed in. God, was he expected to solve everything for them? Hunk felt irritated now, but didn’t really know why.

Lance had his hands buried in his hair. “Hunk,” he moaned. “What do I do?” He glanced up, an overly dramatic pout on his face. “I‒ Hey! What are you doing in the driver’s seat?”

“You didn’t notice,” Hunk replied, snapping his seatbelt on.

“And where’s Keith?” Lance looked around, eventually finding him motionless outside of the door. He opened it. “What are you doing, get in!”

Keith mumbled something.

“What?”

He mumbled it again.

Lance pulled Keith closer exasperatedly, wrinkling the hem of his shirt. “Speak louder, Mullet!”

“There’s no room!” Keith shouted, shoving Lance back into the car. “God! I’ll just walk.”

"Walk?" cried Lance. 

“Why don’t you just sit on Lance’s lap?” Hunk suggested again.

“Yeah why not?” Lance echoed. He shrugged at Keith. “No big deal, man.” But he wouldn’t look Keith in the eye, just cupped his own neck awkwardly and waited for the decision. Keith bit his lip, hesitating.

He offered, “I really can walk...”

“Nope, nope, no, no no no no, no you don’t,” Lance said. He ducked back in the car. “I’m sitting here, you’re sitting on my lap.” He patted his thigh. “Hop on.”

Keith sat down reluctantly. “I’m pretty sure this is illegal,” he muttered, his face going red as Lance’s hands came to rest on his thighs. For keeping Keith still, Lance told himself. Just for keeping him still.

“Nah,” Hunk said while executing a perfect left turn. “We’re cops, so everyone will know it’s us. And if we get into trouble, we can always call Allura.”

“Oh sure,” one of the men grumbled. “You guys do everything and it’s _legal_ because you’re cops, but _I_ try‒”

“Shut up,” Hunk replied, annoyed. “Criminals like you _deserve_ to get caught. It wasn’t even that hard to catch you, and oh boy are you going to be in for a long interroga _tion_.” The tail end of his sentence sharpened abruptly, a shank with words. Hunk frowned at his reflection in the rearview mirror. Why was he so… angry? He didn’t want to be, he was glad everything had worked out so well and yet he couldn’t help the anger churning through him.

The two men in the back of the car exchanged looks. No one else seemed to notice. Hunk was basking in the joy of driving, Keith was doing his level best not to move, and Lance was doing his level best not to notice Keith trying not to move.

* * *

When they got back, Lance left Hunk and Keith to do the actual processing of crimes‒ he swore he’d show up for the interrogation‒ and snuck off to a stairwell to listen to the voicemail. It was, unbelievably, full. He’d only posted the number on a few social media sites and already, the public delivered. Some of them were 100% certified crazy but a few of them‒ oh man, a few of them had potential.

Lance listened to them all, and part of him recognized this as the middle stages of his hyperfixation, but he was already deep into it and besides, what could happen? A couple phone calls couldn’t hurt, right? A particularly intriguing one left Lance scrambling to write down the phone number attached to it, and by the end, he was already calling.

“Hi, yeah, this is Detective McClain calling in response to your tipline call?” Lance leaned against the wall. “Um, yes, it’s true that normally these calls are anonymous, however the telephone is set up to accept the phone numbers in case they are needed, and this happens to be one of those‒ alright, yes, I will tell my superior where he can stick the tracker, but sir? Sir, about your call…

After the man had finished yelling, he calmed down enough to confirm the information that Lance had gathered from the voicemail. Lance tucked the phone between his shoulder and his cheek. “Would you mind meeting me later to go over everything? Maybe point out the place where you saw it happen? Anything that you remember is very useful to us. Today? Eight? That’s kind of… No, yes, I understand you’re busy. Right, eight o’clock it is. Okay. Thank you.”

Lance ended the call and slumped against the wall, sighing. He just couldn’t fucking win. Instead of going home, he’d go to meet a man about the case. Maybe this would be exactly what he needed. Lance rested his head in his hands and took deep breaths, trying not to cry, because for some reason he found himself on the verge of tears. His hands shook and his eyes watered and Lance could feel himself getting ready to lose it, everything he’d worked for gone because he couldn’t control himself. God fucking damn it.

He heard footsteps coming near him, louder and louder, but he didn’t move his head. Let whoever it was pass him by; he didn’t care. It was only when the footsteps stopped in front of him that Lance even bothered acknowledging the presence. “Go away,” he moaned. “Leave me alone.”

“I can’t do that,” Shiro said and Lance lifted his head to glare at him.

“What are you doing here?”

Shiro hummed. “I was surprised you didn’t want to book the guys and brag about your new arrest. Hunk told me you had disappeared. I was just on my way to drag you out of the bathroom when I had a hunch about this stairwell.”

“Congratulations,” Lance said dryly, dropping his head back down, “you found me.”

“You know, Lance, you’re still a great detective. Even if this case dies down, and the trail goes cold. You help the precinct in ways I don’t think you yourself understand.”

“Thanks Shiro,” Lance said, his voice muffled. He was fully aware that he was being a brat, but some part of him viciously loved it. “Did you ever fuck up a case and live to tell the tale?”

Shiro sighed and flopped onto the ground. Lance peeked up in surprise‒ Shiro _never_ did anything less than graceful. He made a sound in his throat and scooted his legs over to make room for Shiro’s sprawling limbs.

“It was the Dahn case.” Shiro’s voice‒ always low and rumbly, an even timbre that enveloped your ears‒ took on a new nuance for Lance. It felt weighted, heavy, resting over the two of them in a strange way. “I was fresh out of school. Allura had taken a chance on me, just because of my recommendations, numerous and pretentious as they were.”

Lance watched him, wide-eyed.

Shiro continued, “I knew all the procedures. I knew all the codes for every single crime you could think of, including ones no precinct had seen since the the beginning of its days. B&E, arson, murder. I knew them all. What I didn’t know was the reality. Of how I would react in an actual case, an actual call with people who needed me. When that gun was pointed at me, I froze. I forgot that I was the last line of defense between good and evil. I panicked.”

Shiro moved to rest his head on his elbow, facing Lance with a serious gaze. “It was the first time I made mistakes that cost us a case. Because of me, that man‒” Shiro stopped talking and shut his eyes. His Adam’s apple bobbed and it looked like he was holding back emotions, swallowing them down to prevent an overflow he couldn’t afford. “‒that man walked free. Walks free.”

He flexed his prosthetic arm, clenching his fist tightly.

“ _I_ let that happen,” he told Lance. “We all make mistakes, Lance. What’s important is that you use them as a guide. You know what you do when you fuck up?”

Lance flinched. Shiro didn’t curse. It wasn’t possible. He was always on Pidge about her language. Shiro never cursed.

“You make sure you never fuck up again.” Shiro’s voice was hard, angry, on edge. Somehow Lance knew it wasn’t directed at him, but at Shiro himself. “You take that, and you _never do it again._ And I know you already know this. I know you turned down‒ still turn down‒ all of Pidge’s offers to go out. Anyone’s offers. I know you won’t drink in a bar. I know you make Hunk buy you alcohol and I know you drink it at home, alone.”

You think people don’t trust you. But we both know it’s you who doesn’t trust you.”

He shifted uneasily, trying to quell the aching that was building. Shiro sat up and stared directly into Lance’s eyes, using two fingers to push his head when Lance tried to avoid the eye contact.

“Lance,” he said finally, firmly, quietly, “it’s not your fault.”

Lance broke down, sobbing. He cried until the ache left, until the blood thumping in his ears was all he could hear, not the sound of his own ragged breathing. The two of them sat there as Lance tried to stifle his cries, hiccuping every now and then with the force.

Another set of footsteps jolted Lance out of his bubble.

“Keith,” Shiro greeted lightly, standing up and stretching to his full height. “What are you doing here?”

Keith stared at the two of them, his gaze resting on Lance who avoided his eyes. “Um. We need Lance for the interrogation, and Hunk told me to get him. Are you okay?” he asked Lance.

Lance didn’t answer. He stared at the tips of his shoes instead. When had they gotten so dirty? Was it that stupid construction site?

“I’m going to leave you two alone,” Shiro said, heading down the stairs. “Lance. Keith.”

“Bye, Shiro,” Keith replied absentmindedly. He barely noticed the door slamming shut behind him. He turned to face Lance, kneeling in front of him. “Lance,” he said, poking him with one hand, unsure. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Lance said, snuffling slightly. His cheeks were puffed and his nose was red, not at all helped as he rubbed at it. “M’fine.”

Keith rocked back onto his heels. He just… stared at Lance. “You sure?” he asked uncertainly, looking as if he’d rather just turn and follow Shiro down the stairs.

Lance hiccuped once. His muscles tensed and his face fell and he wanted to just… collapse, really. What the fuck was the point? Even _Keith_ could tell he was upset. Lance supposed he deserved some credit for not leaving even though it really seemed like he wanted to. Maybe emotions just weren’t his thing?

"I'm sure," Lance told him, trying to hide the evidence that he'd been crying, even though Keith had shown up as he cried. 

He wiped his eyes and Keith froze. They locked eyes and Lance found himself leaning forward slightly. Keith scooted on his feet and...  _thrust_ his arms around Lance in a quick hug. No more than a brief flash of contact, but it reminded Lance enough of home to send another asteroid into his chest, creating a new crater that he would have to deal with at a later time. In front of him, Keith squatted there, staring at his fingerless gloves intently, not looking at Lance at all. It was clear who had to talk first. 

“You, um… You needed me for something?” Lance asked, clearing his throat slightly. 

Keith abruptly straightened up. “Yeah,” he answered, staring off into the distance as if there was something important there. “The interrogation. Hunk said you wanted to do it. He sent me to ask.”

Lance sighed. Whatever change had just happened to Keith, he was sure he was the cause. But fuck it, can’t change the past, right? He stood up, brushing his pants off as he went. “Okay,” he told Keith in as cheerful a voice as he could manage. “Let’s go interrogate a criminal.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like this one was so short!!! I'm sorry, I'm doing my best to make them longer but sometimes I just need to update lmao. Follow me on tumblr, @tessagray-herondale-carstairs! (altho I legit have babyhandsmcclain as a url and im adding posts to it dksfjalkdjsf, but tessagray is my main so follow me there and come scream into the void with me!!!!)


	8. Even I have to admit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Life was kicking my ass, but I finally managed to revise this part and bring it out! It's another long one (in my opinion; holy eight pages batman), so I hope you enjoy it!
> 
> Follow me on [tumblr](http://www.tessagray-herondale-carstairs.tumblr.com/) and we can scream about Voltron together <3

“Look,” the guy said, leaning back into his chair comfortably, “all I can tell ya is what I’ve told ya. I don’t know anything.”

Lance tensed. “That’s bullshit!” he shouted. He grabbed at his hair in frustration, pulling on it. He inhaled once, twice, exhaled for four beats straight. “I’m not going to do this again. Tell me what else you know. I know you’re lying!”

“Well, what’s in it for me?”

The criminal’s words froze Lance in his tracks. “What?”

“I’m gonna tell ya things, I need a little somethin’ in return. Shit like this’ll carry a life sentence.”

“Immunity,” Lance blurted out before his brain could stop him. “Immunity and witness protection. The best we’ve got.”

A loud thump sounded from the wall. Lance winced.

The guy cocked his head to the side, one eyebrow raised inquisitively.

“Janitorial issues,” Lance muttered, ignoring the man’s snort of disbelief.. He got up from the chair he’d been sitting in and made his way to the interrogation room door. It swung shut behind him as he faced the angry looks of Allura and Coran.

“Immunity’s not something you’re authorized to give,” Coran told him firmly.

“Nor is it something we should give,” Allura added.

Lance shoved his hands in his pockets, tapping them anxiously against his leg. “I know, I know,” he replied, “but it’s all I could think of that would be enticing to him. He said something about it needing to be worth it, that telling us what he knew would carry a life sentence. I don’t think he meant just in prison.”

Allura sighed. There was the Lance Brand of Intuition they’d all been waiting for. And he didn’t even know he’d said it. She placed a hand on Coran’s arm as he opened his mouth to speak. “Fine. Do what you must. I‒ that is, _we’re_ trusting you. All of us. Do your best, and it shall guide you to what you seek.”

Lance’s shoulders slumped. “Thanks,” he said defeatedly, letting out a gust of breath and then entered the interrogation room again.

The man smirked when Lance walked in. “They let you off your leash yet?” he asked, spitting sunflower seeds into a cup. That had been one of his first requests, back when Lance was in a humoring mood, and now he was deeply regretting ever looking in his direction with anything besides pure hate. “Woulda thought y’all’d’ve discussed this earlier.”

Lance raised an eyebrow. ”Really?” he asked. “Why?”

The man shrugged. “You need info. I have it.”

“Immunity,” Lance said. “Take it or leave it.”

The man licked his lips in thought and studied Lance and the one way glass pane behind him. “Take it,” he said finally, chewing more sunflower seeds. “There’s a hierarchy. I’m sure I don’t need to tell you who’s at the top. I can tell you who’s below him. Those are who you want to get. They carry out his orders, make sure he stays at the top.” He spat the shells into a cup and grabbed another handful.

“Tell me their names.”

“Sendak.” He spat into his cup again. “Haggar.” Another. “Thace.”

There was a loud thump from behind the wall when he said the last name on his list, and it worried Lance. He instead chose to focus on the task at hand, but eventually his ADHD got the best of him and he turned to the pane of glass, staring intently.

Keith burst into the room. He beelined for Lance, dragging him away from the table and into a corner of the room. “Are you sure you’re asking the right questions?” he asked urgently, a frenetic energy behind his words. “Are you sure this is the path to take? We really need to know more about where to find them not about the people. We know enough about the people don’t you think? We’re not really getting anywhere with the people.”

“Would you _shut up_ ,” Lance said, his mind racing at the sudden change in Keith’s personality. His words confused him, but if Lance was honest with himself, the entire interrogation confused him. Too much of the information was repetitive of what they had already known‒ with the exception of Thace, whoever that was‒ and so he opted to go with Keith’s questions until he could figure out a better route. He shoved Keith out the door and turned back to the man smiling disconcertingly at him. “So, about the addresses…”

* * *

“Do you think…”

“There’s… I mean... that’s _quick_ work, man, we left as soon as we found the file’s address. To leave entirely and set up a trap for us at the same time…” Hunk bit his lip uncertainly. He didn’t need to finish the thought for Lance to know he thought it was impossible to do.

“That’s the only explanation,” Lance snapped. “Rolo must’ve tipped them off. Damn it! I knew there was something shady about him. And fucking Mullet here, just handing him money like it’s nobody’s business. What a _rookie._ ”

“Hey!” Keith yelled indignantly. “ _I_ was the only reason you were able to steal that folder! Don’t try to blame this shit on me!”

Hunk tried to interrupt, “What about Thace? Who is he and why haven’t we read anything on him?”

Lance grounded his fists at his sides. “You were the reason we were sent on this wild goose chase, you mean! ‘Ask him about the addresses,’” Lance mocked, voice high and tight. “Great fucking job that did!”

“Uh, guys? Thace? Supposedly high up, still haven’t read anything about him in any sort of paper at all?”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean, _asshole?_ _You wanted to go to the address too_!”

Hunk left the room just as Lance shoved Keith furiously. A serious error on his part. Keith saw red, Lance listened, and next thing he knew they were both on the ground. He was straddling Lance, his hands gripping Lance’s shirt tightly. Lance struggled to get Keith off, using his gangly arms to gain the upper hand. Keith grit his teeth and used his elbow to pin down one of Lance’s arms, which put them flush against each other.

“You think you’re so much better than the rest of us! Better than me! Well you’re not! Now... get… off… me!” Lance shouted. He bucked up and down wildly, trying to gain momentum to shove Keith away. “Get off!” Keith pulled an arm back for a punch, and he _knew_ it was going to be good. He could feel the power coursing through him. They both realized this at the same time, so Lance doubled his efforts to get out from underneath him.

Suddenly Shiro was there, yanking Keith’s arm back, forcing him to stumble off of Lance. Shiro helped Keith stand up. “Shiro what the _hell_ ,” Keith hissed. He was still itching for a fight and goddamn it if he wouldn’t pick one with Shiro. Some part of him dimly regretted it, wanted to stop the anger that was now redirected, but he loved the way the beast inside could finally roar. Keith so rarely let him off the leash anymore, what was the harm in a few extra minutes of freedom?

Shiro reached down for Lance’s arm. When all three of them were finally upright, he grabbed them by the ears much like a father would. He ignored their cries of pain and fixed them with a glare. “What is your _problem_?” he said harshly. “Hunk has to get me and say you guys are starting fights behind the one way glass in the interrogation room? You yourselves don’t see the problem with that? Are you kidding me?”

A quick glance at Hunk told the story. Once the argument had reached its tension point of no return, Hunk had gotten Shiro to cool it off. Lance understood why. He’d grown up with sibling after sibling, and after a while, fighting is just something that comes naturally. Roughhousing turns evil quickly. If you don’t learn, you get left behind. And Keith, who’d done some fundamental growing up in foster homes, knowing almost nothing about solving anger but the way the system fucked the children and teenagers over‒ of course he would know how to fight. Cinnamon roll Hunk wouldn’t have stood a chance. But Shiro always did.

“You,” the same man said, pointing to Lance sharply, “go stand over there. And you,” this time to Keith, “follow me.” He dragged Keith to the opposite side of the room. “Explain to me what happened. Now.”

As Keith struggled to explain, Hunk worked on Lance. “Dude, you can’t just go exploding like that, okay? Allura will never let you on this case if you and Keith don’t learn to let go of your petty fighting and work together.” He figured if anything, that would work, since Lance was deadly serious about the Galra case, if nothing else.

Hunk figured wrong. “I don’t _care_ ,” Lance said petulantly, righteous anger still flowing through him. “He’s so annoying, and he thinks he can take point on my case? _My case?_ He’s _wrong_.”

Hunk felt his own blood pressure rising and he struggled to control his anger. “It’s not just _your_ case, Lance. What you do to the people in our team affects all of us. What am I supposed to do when both of your asses get kicked off?”

Lance looked like someone had punched him in the throat. Much like Shiro, Hunk rarely cursed. “Hunk are you‒”

Too late, Hunk was on the rampage. “And you never think of anyone, do you? How would it have looked if Shiro hadn’t gotten you two separated and there ended up being footage of a fight that the Sergeant couldn’t break up? A fight in the precinct? How exactly would Allura have handled that? You know she’s under a lot of pressure as it is.” Hunk wondered where all of these words were coming from, all of this bitterness and anger suddenly rising up in him from out of nowhere. Not even Lance’s guilt stricken expression could stop him. “You could’ve cost Allura her job,” he spat out. Irritation was building itself a home in his gut, and Hunk didn’t like it. Still, he couldn’t stop it. He could only watch as the carnage rose to a climax. “You’re so selfish, Lance.”

The last four words seemed to hit Lance like a truck. His head rocked back, lips parted, as if a physical punch actually had been delivered. He swallowed audibly, his adam’s apple bobbing uncertainly. His gaze flickered from Hunk to Shiro, back to Hunk, back to Shiro, until they finally landed on the exit behind Hunk. Hunk knew what was coming probably before Lance himself did. When Lance felt upset, hurt or any other emotion besides anger or joy, he ran. He went to find a quiet place to process, cry or even just sit there quietly. He didn’t want anyone to follow him, because he didn’t like how he was in those times.

Lance bolted, out the door before anyone could say anything. “Wait!” Shiro said anyway, attempting to follow him before the futility of it hit him and he just stopped, staring at the door as it slammed shut behind Lance.

“Wow,” Keith murmured, all anger drained out now. “What’s wrong with him?”

Hunk felt guilty, but the guilt felt wrong to him. Why should he feel bad for saying the truth? That thought itself made him feel worse, because he knew he should feel horrible for hurting his best friend like that, and yet… it had felt right. The vindictive feeling at telling Lance “the truth”, the unexplainable enjoyment at watching him fade right in front of Hunk’s own eyes. It was addictive. _But it shouldn’t be?_ Hunk thought. He shouldn’t want to watch all that vibrancy fade from Lance’s face, changing the pallor of his face, the saturation of his eyes, the life that lit him up from every pore. Hunk’s stomach twisted uneasily. Something was wrong, but he didn’t know what it was. Everything twined together so tightly that Hunk could barely identify his own sense of self.

“I don’t know what’s wrong,” he said aloud, answering Keith’s question but talking about himself. “I just don’t know.” He left the room just as quickly as Lance did, albeit a little quieter.

Shiro and Keith shared a quizzical look between them. Only Lance was really qualified to talk about Hunk and his moods, to go after Hunk and demand an explanation. Maybe Pidge in some cases. But Lance was MIA, Pidge was nowhere to be found, and so Shiro and Keith decided to leave Hunk alone for the time being. The convicts were unanimously chosen to stay in their cells‒ if unanimous meant Keith told Shiro to leave them there, and his expression was so flat Shiro felt more inclined to agree than argue.

Later, Keith found Hunk, and Hunk appeared to be normal, but no one could figure out where Lance had disappeared to. They checked every conceivable place, with Hunk checking about twenty more than Keith, leading Shiro to proclaim a departmental shakeup with contractors sealing all walls and rooms that lead to nowhere. It made them laugh for a while since departmental shakeups were rare and changed almost nothing, but the mood grew more and more somber as Lance remained missing.

“He’ll turn up,” Hunk promised as the workday came to a close and the three of them packed up their belongings. Shiro had nodded halfheartedly. Not even Hunk could find Lance, and Hunk knew him better than anyone.

“Yeah,” Shiro said, still obviously dismayed. “I’m sure he’ll be here tomorrow, right?” His bag clicked shut and Shiro made his way to the elevators to go home. Allura followed close behind him, asking if she could catch a ride home and in the car they could go over some of their latest numbers together before the newspaper publication. All she’d earned for her efforts was a slight smile. An affirmative answer, but a slight smile barely there nonetheless. Keith knew it was because of Lance. Shiro cared so deeply about these people that he was almost jealous. It was like Shiro was Jesus with the lost sheep. He had ninety nine, what was one more sheep? Keith thought. But maybe it was the principle of the thing, of going out to find that one, going the extra mile to make sure your family remained safe and secure. To prove to yourself that your sheep didn’t wander on purpose, and you could always, always guide them home.

* * *

Lance wiped at his cheeks angrily. The tears from the previous bout of crying had long since dried, but he continued trying to scrub away the evidence. He sniffled, annoyed with himself for even crying in the first place. It wasn't like Hunk was lying. Lance _was_ selfish, forgetting his place, trying to prove himself to Keith like that. Still, it was unnerving to hear it put so bluntly. Hunk had always tried to smooth things over, to be the mediator when there was none, to end the fights not start them. Getting Shiro had been such a Hunk thing to do, and then… and then…

_You’re so selfish, Lance._

Fresh tears hit him again and he curled up tighter, knees to chin in a valiant effort to fill the ache in his chest. His arms looped around his legs, forcing his body into a circular contortion that didn’t hurt, just emphasized how alone he was. He had his head buried into his knees. Lance determined that if he was going to cry over what Hunk had said he’d better do it silently, because by God he wouldn’t be whiny about it. Hunk was only telling the truth after all. He’d just have to get over it, and not dwell on it.

_You’re so selfish, Lance._

A few more tears leaked out as his mind played that sentence on repeat, and he gave a halfhearted swipe at them, doing his best to stop crying before it turned into yet another emotional waterfall. A few more sniffles and Lance figured he’d finally stopped crying because his body ached in the way that it only did when it had no more tears. He rested his head on the box next to him, legs splaying out. It had been a novel idea, hiding in the basement. He’d entertained it before, back when he and Hunk were in a prank war with Pidge, but it always seemed so desolate down there. Almost lonely. So when he’d needed a place to hide from his best friend who knew him better than anyone, this had been the first place to come to mind. Everywhere else was bound to be searched, and at least this way he wouldn’t have to face any music until he went home.

_You’re so selfish, Lance._

He checked his phone, wondering how much longer before he could be sure the building was clear when a voice stopped him.

“If you’re wondering when everyone will leave,” Pidge said, looming in front of him, seemingly gigantic as Lance stared up at her through red-rimmed eyes, “the answer is they’re already gone. Yes, even Hunk. You’ve been here a while, you know.”

Lance blinked at her. She huffed and reached down to grab him by his arm, pulling him up as best she could.

“Pidge?” he asked, his voice scratchy. He peered around the basement. “Is this- is this where you’ve been all day?”

Pidge gave him a sour look. “Thanks for noticing I wasn’t around before, jackass. Yeah, I’ve been here. It’s quiet and I can get work done. Well not _here_ here, but around the corner.”

“The corner?” he echoed blankly.

She extended her hand again and upon his acceptance of it, began dragging him to the other side of the basement, an area he hadn't taken the time to look at. “It loops around this way, and there’s a spot just big enough for my desk. I come here when I need quiet time to think. Unfortunately you also came down here, so I couldn’t really think, and I was waiting for you to finally stop crying before I came over.” Lance raised an eyebrow at her. She scowled. “I don’t do well with… tears… or people… emotions? Just… no.” She shuddered.

Lance mulled it over, debating on whether he would’ve even wanted her to acknowledge him in his fragile state before deciding Pidge had done what was best for everyone in the scenario, her originally self-centered reasoning aside. He sat down in her desk chair. She hovered over him, a frown on her lips and harsh words about to snake out of her tongue, but instead she backed away, puzzled. Her stare laser focused on his eyes.

Pidge wetted her lips. “Do you‒ Are you okay?” It was almost as if she was afraid of the answer. But she was trying, and Lance appreciated that so much; Pidge rarely tried for people. She was more content letting them deal with themselves. He shook his head. If she was afraid of the answer, he was afraid of answering it. So many raw wounds. So little time.

They both sat there in companionable silence for a few moments.

“Where’ve you been?” he asked finally. “I mean… why haven’t you been coming home?”

She shook her head. “You know I need to find out what happened to Hunk.”

“At least to sleep then,” Lance countered easily. He almost felt like his old self again. Pidge had a way of making him feel like everything was normal.

_You’re so selfish, Lance._

Pidge smirked. “I’ve got my Mr. Coffee right here, Lance. Don’t need anything else.”

He pouted at her, a look of exaggerated hurt appearing on his face. “Not even your fancy espresso machine? Cause I gotta say, if you don’t want it, I’ve got a guy willing to pay four for it and I‒”

“Don’t even think about it,” Pidge hissed, one hand clapped to Lance’s mouth. “You are _not_ selling Dr. Life to anyone. Ever. Get it? Got it?” Lance nodded, eyes wide. Damn, Pidge was possessive. “Good,” she said, beaming at him. That needed work, Lance thought. She looked more scary than happy. Although that was probably her intention, now that he thought about it. “Now, anything new on the case?”

Lance thought about it for a moment. “The building super offered us info, a one time only deal that turned into a bust. Keith gave him money for it as a bribe, that was a huge bust. I stole a file from his file cabinet, that was sort of a bust? Dunno, we went to the forwarding address the tenants had left, but all we got were these two goons with purple hair‒ they’re down in holding right now, but Allura said we can only keep them there until tomorrow without credible evidence. I said, ‘I _am_ credible evidence,’ and Shiro sighed and made me leave her office‒ so I guess the forwarding address wasn’t a bust? It depends on what we can make of it. They gave us some info, but it depends on what we find, y’know?” He continued, ticking each item off on a finger. “Let’s see, what else. We learned the Galra are synthesizing a serum, but we’re not sure for what, or how, or even for who. We don’t even know what it does, just its name‒ QNTES, isn’t that so stupid, Pidge?” He nudged her gently. Sometime in the middle of his monologue, she’d fallen asleep right where she was standing. He jabbed a thumb into her ribcage.

She woke up with a start. “Ow Jesus!” Pidge glared at him, running the sore spot. “What the hell, Lance?”

He shrugged innocently. “You fell asleep on me.”

“Right… Sorry. Continue.”

“So they named their serum QNTES, which, _why_ and also, _how_. There’s people named Zarkon and Sendak, but I’m about two false leads away from thinking those are just their World of Warcraft guilds or something, because there’s just no way parents could hate their kids that much, y’know?”

“Jesus.”

“Exactly!” Lance exclaimed, happy someone was agreeing with him after such a shitty day. “That’s what I said exactly! And Keith was all, ‘Lance stop being so‒”

_You’re so selfish, Lance._

“Stop being so‒”

“Lance?” Pidge asked worriedly, but it sounded like she was underwater. The sounds were muffled and his eyes burned like they did on Varadero beach when his cousins dared him to open them under the seawater.

_You’re so selfish, Lance._

“Stop being so‒” He floundered for words, unable to stop the broken record in his throat. He broke the surface of the water his mind had been under but it was too late. Pidge’s eyebrows were knit with worry, an eleven forming in the middle of them. “S-stop being so‒”

“Stop being so what, Lance?”

_You’re so selfish, Lance._

He didn't want to tell her. Didn’t want to admit anything. Wanted to stay quiet and slam his mouth shut. Until he could swallow the words that kept coming up over and over again. “Pidge, am I selfish?” He hadn’t meant to ask that. Why had he asked that? He’d meant to laugh it off and say, _whoops sorry, I haven’t eaten lunch_ , _ignore my emotional outburst… or two._ He was meant to provide comic relief and convince Pidge to come back home with him, not dump on her day and cement his position as‒

“Selfish?” Pidge repeated. She crossed her arms over her chest. “Why would you‒ oh. _Oh._ ” In a flash, Pidge had put it together. She always was good at puzzles, Lance thought distantly, his heart pounding into his chest. “Is that why you’re hiding in the basement?”

Lance came back down to earth and flushed, embarrassed to be caught. “I wasn’t hiding,” he muttered resentfully, staring at the tips of his shoes. He _was_ hiding but in the most adult, mature way possible, there was no need for her to say it like that.

She knelt down, resting her arms on Lance’s legs. “You’re not selfish,” she told him. “You forget to think about others sometimes, but you’re not selfish.”

“Isn’t forgetting to think about others basically the same thing as being selfish?”

“I don’t think so. Selfishness is one of those things that you can just know about a person before you spend time with them. Like their hair color or if they use dryer sheets. But you just forget to think about people, you never intentionally exclude them for your own purposes. Besides, when you do forget, you make up for it in incredible ways. You feel guilty when you forget someone. You don’t say, ‘It’s okay that I forgot them, because I got to do this’, or something similar. You feel horrible about it.”

He stared down at her dubiously, sure she was just humoring him, but her eyes were solemn. She wasn’t making fun of him. “Are you sure you’re Pidge?” he asked, teasing but only a little. Uncertainty crept into his voice at the end, dragging it down in the most inconvenient way, betraying his weakness.

Pidge slapped his thigh, the easiest thing within her tiny reach and it made him want to laugh. “Who said you were selfish? Was it Keith?” She made a face at his name. “I bet it was Keith. Ignore him, he sucks anyway.”

“It wasn’t Keith,” Lance replied hollowly. His heart sank as he relived the events again. “It was Hunk.”

Pidge sucked in a burst of air. “Hunk? Our Hunk? Orange headband, loves food? Cooks amazing paella? That Hunk?”

“God, what, do you have a list of his amazing attributes memorized? Yes, that Hunk. He yelled at me too,” Lance said bitterly. As if he needed a reminder of how great Hunk was while he himself was down in the dumps.

She bit her bottom lip thoughtfully. “It’s just… isn’t that so unlike Hunk? He’s not the type of guy to go around instigating war, he’s the type to go around ending it.”

“So… what, you think he’s one of the pod people now? Purple aliens abducted him and I have to go find a new best friend? What?”

Pidge hummed, thinking. Lance waited. One minute turned into five, turned into twenty. Finally, “Come back tomorrow. I think… I think I’ll have something, and I’ll need your input.”

“Wha‒ hey!” Pidge had just gotten up and began pacing in circles, wider and wider until she took up the whole basement floor. “That’s it? Time for me to go?”

“Yes,” she replied tersely. “Come back tomorrow, Lance. After work. I need to think.”

It wasn’t like he didn’t understand. He really did understand how Pidge’s thought process worked, but he didn’t like how he was told to leave so abruptly. There he was pouring his heart out, and she just tells him to come back tomorrow all cryptically. Even so, Lance felt relieved. All of the bad feelings had dissipated with Pidge. Instead of his usual method of bottling them up and waiting for someone to shake him, he’d released them carefully. It felt… nice. So even though he was being kicked out for a Pidge-reason and Hunk had basically destroyed him, Lance was feeling better. Not to mention tonight he would meet up with that man and find out more about the Galra. He would find the lead he’d been looking for this whole time, and then no one could say Lance McClain was useless again.


	9. Life's just a pay stub on death (pt II)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Work: updated  
> Chapter: relatively short  
> Me: dead
> 
> EDIT: for some reason i keep forgetting to add this, but [Bella](http://cravethatcinnaroll.tumblr.com/) made playlists for this fic, and my personal fave is [Spicy Boi](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLdJvg6uggBimiBic34Doj1ptZIxJ4pNWM), dedicated to Keith aka my spicy boi

It was 7:55, and Lance was early. The sun had already set long before‒ daylight savings time was a bitch. He stood in front of a lamppost, trying not to look so shady and threatening, and waited. And waited. Minutes ticked by and the man‒ Lance had already forgotten his name‒ was late.

Lance’s skin itched with every passing second that the man didn’t show, and he stung with the irritation of another failure. As if his day hadn’t been bad enough, he’d failed in his extra efforts. At least he hadn’t told Keith or Hunk about the tipline. At least he didn’t have to explain yet another mistake to them. Maybe he wouldn’t have to. If he waited, maybe the man would show up.

His waiting paid off. The man arrived‒ _twenty minutes late,_ Lance thought bitterly‒ and Lance was entirely too relieved to have something in his life go right for once that he decided to let the tardiness slide. After all, he had important information right within his grasp, and he wasn’t about to let that go.

“Thanks for showing up,” Lance said, waving a hand towards the man in a friendly gesture. “I wasn’t sure you’d be here.”

The man grunted.

After a few minutes of no answer, Lance chose to barrel through and persevere. “So, what can you tell me about what you saw Tuesday two weeks ago?”

The man smiled at Lance, but it was creepy. It was off putting and it made Lance uncomfortable. Still he was so determined not to screw up, to just do something _right_ for once that he let his instincts slide. Turned them off in favor of a man with information that could help. He fought against every urge that told him to leave, and waited.

“You think youse can do anything you want,” the man slurred. “B’cause yer cops.” He lurched forward towards Lance and Lance stumbled backwards. Lance covered his nose. He absolutely _reeked_ of liquor. Another reason to hate it, Lance thought.

“Think yer above the law, ‘cause you… cause you wear that badge,” the man said. “I s’w you in tha car, sittin' two ta seat‒ actin' like youse can do ‘nything. My buddies in the back...” The man hiccuped.

He rushed at Lance, whose instincts finally kickstarted and he shoved the guy away. God damn it, why couldn’t he do anything fucking _right_ for once? He ruined the precinct’s only lead, he gave money to a guy who worked for the gang‒ Lance couldn’t even work a tipline right, for Christ’s sake! At what point would he finally stop fucking things up for everyone else?

In the middle of his internal berating, the man charged, a knife appearing out of nowhere, and Lance was suddenly furious, hot boiling anger that hit him hard and raged through him. This guy wanted to waste his time? _Fine. Just fine._ Lance would show him who Lance McClain really was, laws and regulations and procedures be damned. Obstruction of justice charges needing to be filed who? As far as the precinct was concerned, no one knew Lance was even meeting this man. If he was selfish, he was going to be the most selfish person anyone knew. He would risk everything and everyone for what he wanted. Good fucking bye.

Lance was so angry he missed the first punch. A swift jab to the eye‒ yup, that was swelling; he would have a shiner‒ and Lance drove an uppercut so far into the man’s organs that he probably could’ve listed everything he’d had to eat. The man, still so far drunk that he couldn’t even register the dark expression on Lance’s face, barely took notice of the punch, instead driving a leg up between Lance’s thighs, a move he quickly dodged and retaliated with a roundhouse that kicked the knife out of the man’s hands, making it skitter across the road in a flash of silver and black.

It was take no prisoners day, and Lance was a rogue cop with a mean streak let loose.

* * *

Lance stumbled home with blood smeared on his chin, a small trickle leaking out of his mouth. _Drip._ He didn’t bother swiping at it. Every drop that landed on his clothing was another drop proving he had beaten someone. _Drip._ That he wasn’t to be messed with. _Drip._ The dirt rubbed in his hair was another piece of evidence that he wasn’t afraid to fight. _Drip._ That if anyone crossed him, he was ready.

 _Drip._ Every drop that fell was another drop that proved Lance didn’t quit, wouldn’t quit, would do whatever it took to get information. _Drip._ Another drop that proved he _was_ selfish. _Drip. Drip drip drip._

It was proof, goddamn it. But Lance knew that no one could know the truth of his mysterious wounds. He slid his key into the lock of his apartment and tracked his way into his living room, collapsing on the couch in exhaustion. Pidge wouldn’t mind, she wouldn’t be home tonight. And if she did happen to come home, Lance thought, yawning, she would just take his bed anyway.  It would work out.

* * *

The next morning, Lance danced in front his stove as the rice bubbled, a towel slung over one shoulder. He was humming a random tune, stolen from his memory unconsciously, perfect for the night anyway. He stirred the rice pot with one hand, the other displayed in midair mimicking the movements he would’ve made had he been dancing with a partner. Either way, the dance came together naturally, Lance never missing a beat or step, despite his inability to see out of his swollen eye.

The microwave beeped at him angrily and Lance quickly plucked the plate out with his dance hand, now covered protectively with the towel. “Ooh, yeah,” he said to himself as the food came together on a plate. It was hot but it would be worth it, he thought to himself. A feast fit for the day he’d had yesterday. “Fancy Lancey gonna be eating good _today_!”

It was ropa vieja, his favorite‒ basically a stew of beef and rice. He’d made it a while back, knowing Pidge would want the leftover paella‒ and that he would want her to have it if it meant she would be home to eat it‒ and besides, it only required him to make the rice, and he’d decided on having it as a sort of comfort food. It reminded him of home, the smells and tastes and sounds, his mother’s recipe for an aching heart. She had taught him how to make it when he was a child. He could still feel her cuddling him close as giggles escaped him and he squirmed in her grip to avoid the onslaught of kisses she rained down on him, enjoying it all the same. The thought saddened him but he was determined not to let yesterday get to him, not a single part. Grimly, he scooped out some more stew, carefully gauging his hunger levels but knowing he always underestimated. Breakfast _was_ the most important meal and he had that classic McClain metabolism anyway, it wasn’t like the amount mattered.

He’d just sat down and the fork was halfway to his mouth when there was a knock on his door. He frowned. The buzzer was broken but usually anyone he knew just messaged him before they showed up. Lance sighed. He carefully folded up the napkin that had been on his shirt like a bib, set his fork down, and went to open the door.

“Look I didn’t order anyth‒” The man at the door was Hunk. Lance flashed back to earlier that day.

_You’re so selfish, Lance._

Hunk looked nervous, but Lance was too dazed to notice. He definitely hadn’t expected Hunk of all people. “Can I come in?” Hunk asked, looking disgruntled with Lance’s lack of manners. “And whoa, what happened to your eye?”

It took him a few seconds to respond; his mind moved sluggishly. He wordlessly opened the door wider. Hunk probably assumed it was because he was still angry, but really Lance just didn’t know what to say. Who was in the wrong here? Lance, the selfish one? Or Hunk, the truth deliverer?

“Listen,” Hunk said, taking a deep breath. “I need to apologize.”

“Apologize?” Lance echoed blankly. His mind refused to cooperate. It just… shut down.

_You’re so selfish, Lance._

Hunk nodded furiously. “You didn’t deserve anything I said, and I shouldn’t have said it. I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” Lance said generously albeit blankly. How he felt wasn’t Hunk’s fault, it was true. It wasn’t Hunk’s fault that Lance couldn’t handle the truth. _You’re so selfish, Lance._ His voice was toneless as he said, “My fault. I’m stupid and selfish. Not your fault. You’re pure and sweet.”

Hunk swallowed some anger down‒ why couldn’t Lance just accept the apology like a normal fucking person?-- but it wasn’t enough to rein it in. “It’s not your fucking fault, Lance,” he snapped, trying to regain some control over himself. He checked it, just barely. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”

Lane shook his head, seeming more like a zombie with each passing second. He’d begun feeling numb from the time he’d opened the door on. What were his emotions? He didn’t know. All he knew was the numb, detached, feeling that floated through him. Was Hunk talking? Hunk’s face was red and the words were opening, but still it felt like they were all swimming to get to him.

Hunk reached out to touch him, one hand coming to rest on his shoulder, but just before it landed, Lance saw red. “Don’t touch me,” he hissed, unfrozen finally, his hand slapping Hunk’s away.

“You‒”

“Do you know how _rude_ you were?” Lance asked, his teeth clenched down in an effort not to yell. His building had strict noise rules and Lance was one complaint away from a hefty fine. Even in rage, his mind knew enough to keep functioning.  “Dude, you were so rude and _what’s wrong, Hunk?”_ Even when he was angry, Lance was always concerned for other people. His anger flared and burned out, a match being struck.

“What’s wrong?” Hunk repeated. He was confused, one arm suspended in midair as he stood in the doorway and just looked at Lance, puzzled. It was as if the two of them were playing a game of freeze tag, and Lance had just passed it to Hunk. A game between friends. Just the thought of it made Lance sad again. He missed his siblings and little cousins with a fierce aching that hit his chest like a crater. The cooling ropa vieja on his table reminded him of home and the freeze tag analogy his brain had landed upon drove that point in deeper. He was homesick.

Homesickness always wrecked him and it was because of that thought that Lance softened slightly. “Yeah, man,” he said. “You’re not like this. This isn’t you. What happened?”

Hunk worked his mouth. He wanted to protest, nothing had changed, just a fluke, slip up, once and done. Other parts clamored for the truth: something’s wrong, something is wrong, angry, anger, can’t stop getting angry help please Lance. “I’m fine,” he said haltingly, the words coming out like molasses.

Lance shook his head. “Can’t fool me,” he said confidently. His head felt much better after the triple whammy of anger, homesickness, and concern over Hunk had washed over him. The subsequent mini-release of each emotion had left his head clearer than before. A cocktail of emotions that shouldn’t be, but was. They were still there, of course, lying in the base of his neck, waiting for a time of vulnerability, but at the time they were dormant. “What’s up buddy?”

Hunk squirmed uncomfortably. Lance’s concern hit him in a weird place and he wasn’t sure why or how; it made him angry and relieved all at once. “Why do you think something’s up?” Despite it all, Hunk’s temperature was rising again. Lance always assumed he knew everything, why couldn’t he just leave well enough alone, it wasn’t a big deal to anyone, _God!_

Lance’s head might’ve been clear, and he might’ve always been ridiculously observant, but in this moment in time, he opted to let his guard down. If there was anyone he could be totally honest with, it was Hunk. “I know you,” Lance said, chuckling a little, seemingly recovered from his time in the pool of his mind and the anger that had briefly shown up. The facade for his homesickness and upset at the mistreatment was well in place. It hurt a little that it was such a perfect mask, but Lance supposed that was the point of masks. It didn’t serve a purpose if it revealed who you were to everyone.

“You don’t know anything.” Hunk was firm in his sentence, doing his best to cut it off before Lance forced him into an explosion. He didn’t want to be angry, and he definitely didn’t want to be angry at Lance when he was trying to apologize to him.

“Hunk,” Lance said, leaning against the doorway. “I definitely do, I mean‒”

A thread snapped, and Hunk roared, “You don’t! You don’t know! You don’t know fucking anything about fucking anyone so just shut up and stop assuming you know everything! So fucking selfish, Lance! You only ever think about you!” Lance’s mouth hung open and he quickly snapped it shut. But it was too late; Hunk was already on a roll.

“You never ask me what I want to eat, you always pick where we go for lunch when we go out! You’re always the one driving the squad car even though I know I’ve asked to drive it more than enough times for you to get the fucking picture! You wouldn’t just _shut up_ and accept Keith, even though Allura made it so obvious we would all be removed from this case if you wouldn’t shut the shit up and work with him, and so you know what? Fuck you! You know why you need to solve this!”

Lance swallowed _hard_ , and his voice seemed to be lost in Hunk’s fury. Who was this man in front of him? Did he know? Had he ever known? And if it wasn’t him, would Lance know him if he saw him somewhere else?

Hunk wasn’t done. “And you fucking let me take the fall at that shitty restaurant; you didn’t even try to help me! You just said ‘Oh, Hunk will eat it, la di da”, and let me be fucking sick and feel like _shit_ the rest of the time!”

“Th-that’s not true,” Lance said, his eyes flitting anxiously. His hands fidgeted restlessly as he searched for an escape. Finally they landed on the doorway. If he could just scooch Hunk out an inch or two…

Lance advanced on Hunk, pulling on his brave facade. He didn’t know if forcing Hunk out would work, but it was the only chance he had. He hoped there was some remaining shred of the Hunk he knew that would stop him from just using his (much bigger) muscle mass to fight back.

It worked. Hunk backed out, but the verbal assault on Lance continued. The door shut between them and still, Hunk roared on and on about how Lance was selfish, solipsistic, vain‒ all the things Lance had desperately worked to keep out of his head for so long, and now they were hitting him in the form of his best friend’s voice.

He curled up on his couch, food forgotten, walls practically shaking with the combined effort of Hunk’s screaming and his own crying.

_You’re so selfish, Lance._

* * *

The same afternoon, Lance trudged down the precinct’s basement stairs. After what had happened that morning, he’d texted Shiro and took a personal day, but had shown up for Pidge when all he really wanted to do was go home and binge America’s Next Top Model. But instead, he called out, “Pidge, you down here?”

No answer. No time to waste.

He hit the floor with a thud, having long ago perfected the art of jumping down whole flights of stairs‒ the trick was long legs and a reckless attitude toward breaking them‒ and headed straight for the corner that housed Pidge. She was sitting at her desk, typing furiously on her laptop, checking and rechecking the numbers that poured out of her computer with each keystroke.

“Hey,” he said, tapping her on the shoulder warily. Scaring Pidge in the middle of one of her frenzies had proven fatal before. He held out a cup of coffee as a peace offering. It was his own cup, and it’d gone cold between the time he’d poured it and the trek to the basement, but it was better than nothing. Pidge grabbed for it and greedily sucked it down, grimacing at the sweet taste that was Lance’s coffee preference.

“You have shit coffee preferences,” she told him after she was done chugging it, never once pausing between thirsty gulps. “But thanks. I’m glad you came down, I need to talk to you.” Pidge yanked at the papers still printing from her computer. “Do you see this?”

“Um. See what?” Lance was good at his own job, not so good at Pidge’s.

“Look!” she commanded, yanking his head to follow her line of eyesight. “Do you see that?”

Lance flailed, off balance from her yank. “I don’t.. See… I don’t see anything!” he managed to say before falling straight on his ass. He let out a pained noise.

Pidge grunted. “Of course you don’t see, you have a black eye. How the fuck did you get a black eye?”

Lance didn’t answer. Clearly, his attempts with some concealer hadn't worked.

Pidge shot out of her chair and took off in her normal circular pacing, but this was… different. Faster, more urgent. She started out in wide circles, which meant she was already deeply in thought about something. “How could‒ I mean the technology behind it is‒”

“Mind letting me in on your thoughts?” Lance asked. “Since you wanted my input and all?”

She shook the paper she was still gripping. “QNTES! After you left, I knew something was weird, my brain wouldn’t shut down or let me sleep‒”

“Y’know that might be the coffee you keep drinking‒”

“‒and so I started thinking, where had QNTES come from? Why was it bothering me so much? It didn’t seem very important. Not until I started looking over Hunk’s blood test again.”

“Hunk’s blood test?”

Pidge just nodded, the circles she was turning getting smaller and smaller, her feet pacing faster to match her thoughts. “At first, there was nothing. I couldn’t find anything. I ran the test again just to be sure. Nothing. The next day, nothing. I kept turning up nothing. How could Hunk have something wrong with him that my computer couldn’t find? I continued testing. I couldn’t use too much of his blood for experimenting, he’d only given me one vial, but I could keep testing. Finally yesterday was the last test I could do, but when you said QNTES, it hit me. Well, okay, it didn’t hit me when you said it. It hit me a little later, since I’d fallen asleep. That’s why I kicked you out. I needed full concentration. Why did my brain connect QNTES with yesterday’s lab results?” she asked rhetorically. Lance didn’t even bother answering, instead just taking Pidge’s desk chair for himself and swiveling it to face her. She shook the paper again. “His blood results were different! Some numbers had changed, I knew that, but I couldn’t pin down why, my computer said nothing was wrong, just _slightly_ unusual for a healthy human, nothing to worry about, and still I wondered, QNTES, why QNTES…”

Lance couldn’t take it anymore. “Oh my god, tell me how you connected them!”

“All of Hunk’s numbers that changed, they were all alphabetically corresponding to QNTES. Just those five elements. I ran out of his blood so I can’t test again, but those were the only five. After the second to last test, I altered my computer to scan for the most minute detail; I wanted every component of his blood spelled out to me.”

“I’m gonna need layman terms here, Pidgeot. I’m smart but you’re entering genius territory again.” Lance could feel his excitement in Pidge’s discovery waxing with each new revelation and waning with each time she dove into scientist speak. Mostly he was unnerved. Hunk’s blood had changed so much, and it was all related to the serum that he’d dismissed? Maybe he _was_ selfish.

Pidge stopped in her circle and fixed him with a look. “S, serum albumin. A blood protein necessary for maintaining the proper pressure needed to distribute fluids between our vessels and tissues. Without it our tissues would be flooded with bodily fluids. E, erythrocytes. Red blood cells to a layman like yourself. They distribute oxygen in our body. Not that serious a drop on its own, millions of people have anemia and survive. T, thrombocytes. These are the platelets in your blood. They clot and make sure you don’t bleed out when you have a cut. N and Q, I have no fucking clue. My laptop didn’t even _recognize_ Q. Do you know how recent _or_ obscure something has to be for my laptop to tell me it doesn’t know? Q was being secreted in such small amounts that I wonder if my computer could have even caught it in the beginning‒ it appeared to be trying to hide, and only released the longer it went.”

Her words created a storm in Lance, and his fingers tapped faster with every word. Too much nervous energy flowed through him, and he couldn’t handle it. He needed to move, right now, or risk explosion. “Pidge, wait, so what does this mean?” He nearly shouted in his efforts to get this information processed as quickly as possible. Lance tended to think loud. If not in his ideas, then his thoughts were loud, and his voice often matched it unless he took the time and energy to force it down a few volume levels. He didn’t have the time.

“It means they’ve developed a serum that waits days to attack your body after being ingested, it means you need to go back to wherever the hell you went the day Hunk got sick because shady shit was definitely happening, and most im-fucking-portantly, it means if Hunk gets so much as a paper cut, _he’s going to bleed out and die._ ” Pidge was almost screaming by the end of her sentence. She was pretty sure the last part was an exaggeration on her part, but they had no time for Lance to dawdle. “Either way, he’s already in so much trouble, because his tissues are about to be _flooded_ with fluid, if they’re not already, and he needs to go to a hospital or something for testing, or I need new blood vials _now_.” She looked at Lance expectantly.

“Don’t look at me,” he said, raising his arms in defense. “Hunk and I got into a fight the other day and an even bigger one when he came to my apartment to apologize this morning. I can’t get you his blood because I don’t even know where he went afterwards. Shiro said he didn’t show up to work today.”

Pidge latched onto that. “Mood swings, you mean? He’s been moody? Have his eyes been yellow?”

Lance snorted. “If by moody you mean absolutely mean to everyone for no reason, then yes, he’s been moody.” He frowned. “I don't know about his eyes though.”

She squinted at the papers on her desk. “If all three elements’ numbers drop, and there’s unknown variables, possibly a detergent that’s forcing his transmembrane lipoproteins to isolate, there’s no telling what can or will happen to him,” she told Lance. “His body is under foreign attack and it has no idea how to fight it. As far as his immune system knows, his body _is_ the invader. His brain is probably under so much pressure that it’s forcing out the most primal responses to any external stressors, simply because it can’t handle anymore. A side effect of hypoalbumin is mood swings. If Hunk’s levels are as low as the most recent test‒ and I would wager they're lower‒ then he isn't the Hunk we know at all.”

“So what you’re saying,” Lance said tensely, sticking his hands down his back pockets, “is that we need to find Hunk, and get him to a hospital.”

“Yes.” Pidge nodded. “Immediately. To postpone treatment for this could cause irreparable damage to him.” She glared at the papers in her hands, as if demanding them to tell her how to fix Hunk. A quick glance up and then‒ “And tell Shiro while you’re at it, I think he likes to be informed.”

“Got it,” Lance replied. He took off running, basement steps nearly breaking with the force of his footfalls. “I’ll call you with what hospital we’re at!”

Pidge sank into her desk chair wearily. She knew Lance would make it. She trusted him. He would do what was best, and let her know. Her glasses slipped off her face. “I think I should turn my phone on loud,” she muttered as she fell asleep almost instantly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the amount of research I had to do on blood was annoying but honestly?? i think it's the part I'm most proud of. Come to my [Tumblr](http://tessagray-herondale-carstairs.tumblr.com/) and scream about this chapter because I love screaming about it with you guys.


	10. Only less diligent (pt II)

Lance banged on Hunk’s apartment door again. And again. And again. It was his last try on the Find Hunk World Tour, and honestly, it probably should’ve been his first. They say hindsight is 20/20, but Lance felt obtuse. Where else would Hunk be? Then again, they also say that it’s always the last place you look, so either way, his odds were about the same. But in his haste, he’d left his keys on Pidge’s desk, Hunk’s spare key on his key ring included. He slammed against the door once more, this time his head hitting it with a force that matched that of how stupid he’d been. First he had fought with Hunk soon after fighting with Keith. And then when Hunk had come to apologize, Lance had ignited whatever flame there’d been left over, and Hunk had lost his shit. He didn’t come into work, and now he was fucking dying. Lance’s best friend was dying.

“Hunk!” he screamed and he put the full force of his body into a door kick that shouldn’t have worked, but did because of the apartment’s shitty infrastructure. It spiraled down, a huge noise that Lance ignored as he ran into his best friend’s apartment. “Hunk! Where are you?!” Lance’s voice cracked with desperation.

A pitiful moan reached him and Lance’s feet were moving before Lance himself had registered what the noise was. He poured on the speed and in a flash he was in front of Hunk, face down on the bed, the big guy making some awful noises. “Lance,” he gasped. The words were garbled and hard to understand.

“Yeah?” Lance scrambled to Hunk’s side, grabbing for him. “Yeah, Hunk, I’m here, I’m here, don’t worry, we’re gonna get you to a hospital don’t worry.”

“Hurts,” Hunk whimpered, his hands attempting to point to a place on his abdomen. “Something… wrong….” The words obviously took a big effort and a pang shot through Lance. He wanted to avert his eyes, to look anywhere besides his best friend. “Get away from me!” Hunk roared suddenly. “You're incompetent,” he hissed at Lance, who backed away slowly. Pidge hadn't been joking.

Lance looked at Hunk, noting all the differences in his friend between yesterday and now. Hunk’s skin was discolored and his stomach appeared to be distended, swollen. Lance called 911 and waited to hear the sirens, his hands shaking with every whimper and moan that came out of Hunk’s mouth in between insults and harsh words.

They let Lance ride in the ambulance, but only because Hunk had reached fever pitch delirium and Lance was the only coherent one. At the hospital, Lance dialed the one number he’d been almost dreading to call. Not because of himself, but because it would mean finally admitting something was wrong with Hunk. It would mean this wasn’t a nightmare conjured up from horror stories being read before bed. “Hey Shiro,” he said and he winced at how rough his voice sounded.

“Lance?” Shiro sounded groggy, his voice thick with sleep. “It’s… It’s almost eleven. What’s wrong?”

“Hunk’s in trouble. We’re at Arus Hospital. Can you meet me?” Lance wasn’t wasting time with wordy sentences. Hunk might’ve been in the doctor’s care, but he still wasn’t about to go on a rambling speech when he needed Shiro there _now_.

“Hospital?” Now Shiro sounded more awake. There was a sound of shuffling bedsheets and Lance swore he heard the sleepy murmur of someone asking Shiro what was wrong. A dull thump, and then, “Shit! Okay, I’ll be there soon, Lance. 10 minutes, I promise.”

Lance hung up the phone, immediately dialing a new number. He left a voicemail for Pidge‒ two words: Arus Hospital‒ and paced the length of the waiting room. Step, step, step. Vending machine, water fountain, bathroom. Vending machine, water fountain, bathroom. All of it background fodder to the unceasing thought controlling Lance’s mind: _what do I do now?_

He would pace until he had an answer, Lance decided. Which of course meant that his mind went blank instantly, every noise and picture now a distraction minefield for Lance’s brain to navigate. With dismay he remembered that he’d forgotten to take his medicine that morning, having been so emotional over the recent events. At least there was yet another thing he could beat himself up about, Lance thought darkly. As if there hadn’t been enough of material for that activity already.

Just then, Shiro arrived with Allura in tow‒ both of them looking equally rumpled and awake; that’s worth investigating, Lance thought briefly‒ and Lance welcomed them with open arms. “Hey,” Shiro greeted him. “What happened?”

Lance told the two of them his conversation with Pidge‒ the serum, the corresponding letters, everything‒ up until the waiting began, and the doctor strolled in. “Hunk Garrett?” he called.

All three of them stood up, an intimidating number of people for almost midnight in a hospital. “Here,” Lance answered shakily. “We’re‒ that’s us.”

The doctor nodded. “Well, your friend is lucky. You got him here in time.” They all breathed a sigh of relief. Then the doctor continued, “We’re only able to keep him comfortable for a few days though, so it might be time to start considering his… other arrangements.”

Shiro and Allura exchanged a loaded look. “Other arrangements?” Lance echoed blankly. “What other arrangements, like his family being notified?”

Hesitantly, the doctor nodded. “Yes, I expect they’d like to know before he passes.”

“Passes?” Then Lance got it. “Oh my god. You don’t‒ he’s not… he’s not going to make it?”

The doctor shook his head slowly. “We’re doing all we can, but we’ve never seen anything like it. Whatever he has in his system is slowly shutting all of his cells down, destroying his white blood cell count along with the red blood cells and flooding his tissues. We’ve been testing his levels and to be honest, it doesn’t look good. His kidneys are already functioning at just half capacity. Moreover, he resists treatment.”

They all ignored that. “How long?” Shiro asked.

“It doesn’t matter,” Lance said through clenched teeth. “He isn’t fucking dying!”

“Maybe three days,” the doctor replied, ignoring Lance’s outburst. He glanced once more at the chart held within his hands. “Three days. If his kidneys don’t recover, we’ll put him on dialysis in two days, depending on how strong his body is. If he continues to strain himself by resisting, maybe one and a half days. Unfortunately, this‒ this serum is clever. It tricked his body into thinking its own cells were the problem, resulting in a cataclysmic attack on itself. Anything you can do‒ well, it would have to be a Hail Mary at this point; anything that can’t heal him within that time span is only going to make the end more painful for him. I’m sorry. You can see him now,” he added, pivoting on his heel to walk away.

Lance turned on Shiro. He gritted his teeth. “I’m taking Pidge and Keith, and we’re going to find the Galra,” he hissed through his tight jaw. “We’re not going to stop. We’ll find out whatever the fuck they’re doing.”

“What if they don’t have an antidote? What then?” asked Allura. Her steely determination was prevalent on her face as she asked the one question they were all afraid of. Her brutal honesty was one of the reasons Lance loved her, but right now it was the thing he hated about her.

Lance’s expression changed into a smile. It wasn’t one of happiness, however, rather one of sadistic cruelty, one that spoke of a Lance that enjoyed the torment of others. It sent chills down their spines. “Then I’ll be finding them for an entirely different reason,” he replied, and it made Allura shiver again with the promise his words held. Neither Shiro nor Allura stopped him though. It said enough about his expression that neither thought they could, and it said enough about their characters that they decided not to. Lance drew his hood up over his head and stepped back, sticking his hands into his pockets. “Shiro,” he called just before he left.

Shiro snapped to attention. “Yes?”

Lance’s shoulders hunched and he seemed smaller. With his shoulders rounded and back slouched, he looked like a younger Lance, one that would have been afraid of many things. Though Shiro knew that wasn’t the case, knew Lance had seen things that could break an older man, his heart still ached for the boy that had to watch his best friend go through this. “Can you…” Lance’s voice was quiet, barely there and only if Shiro was listening. “Can you call Shay?” he asked. “I don’t want to have to tell her… what’s happening…”

Shiro's chest panged with sympathy. “I will,” he promised Lance, who was already striding away. “I’ll tell her.”

* * *

Pidge woke up to the same sound she’d fallen asleep to: Lance’s footfalls on the staircase. She shoved her glasses back on. “What do you want, McClain?” she asked on a groan, stretching her back until it popped almost to the point of breaking it. Then she remembered the events of the day before‒ was it the day before, Pidge wondered, or the same day? The very thought made her reach for her cell phone. One new voicemail. Why hadn’t it rung? “Is Hunk okay?”

“No!” Lance cried, a brown blur streaking through her vision until it was in front of her. “He’s dying, they can't do anything, and Pidge, I need you. You and… Keith?” He looked around the room, half-expecting to see a mullet appear in the shadows. “Where’s Keith?”

She shrugged, a yawn escaping her lips. “Lance, this is the basement. I don’t know where anyone is, let alone Keith.”

Lance asked, “Can you find him?”

Pidge swiveled to face her laptop, hibernating from a lack of use. “I can find anyone,” she said smugly.

“Sure, Pidgeot,” Lance said. He came forward and rested his hand on the back of her chair. “But can you find _Keith?”_

Pidge didn’t even bother to dignify that with a response, instead fixing him with a level glare as she typed rapidly. “Okay,” she finally said, her printer spitting out another piece of paper. “If you tell anyone about this, I’ll end you, but here’s his address.”

He accepted the piece of paper, glancing over it before tucking it inside his jacket pocket. “Why would you end me?”

“I’m on the IT department’s payroll, and I don’t think they’ll like me just giving out employee information.” She smiled at Lance radiantly. “Just remember, I have your information too, Lancelot. _All_ of your information.”

He gulped. “Right. Not telling anyone, got it. I’ll just, uh… go find Keith?”

“Smart move.”

“Go see Hunk,” he pleaded as he walked away. “Go to the hospital; Shiro and Allura are there. See if you can help with the mood swings. He won’t accept treatment.”

“Shiro and Allura are there...together?” Pidge asked. She muttered _finally_ under her breath, loving the idea of Shiro and Allura. It had taken so long, and it wasn’t even a breach of ethics! Okay, technically it was, Pidge amended in her head. However Coran was directly under Allura, and Shiro fell under Coran’s supervision, so Allura wasn’t directly in charge of him, although everyone knew that was just formality.

“Not naming names, but Shiro _did_ have someone in his bed when I called, and Allura showed up _with_ him, so…” Lance shrugged but his face was sly. He knew what the implications were.

“Not naming names, what the‒? Lance that doesn’t even make sense! Oh, just go!” Pidge yelled. “You owe me twenty bucks!” she tacked on in afterthought, just before the basement door slammed shut on Lance’s cackle.

* * *

When Lance entered the train station, he finally took the time to scan the address. Holy God, Keith lived far. As in, how did he get to work every morning with a commute that would probably be three hours by public transportation? Although now that Lance thought about it, he had heard rumors of Keith owning a modified motorcycle built from scratch. He’d chalked it up to that whole bad-boy lone-wolf persona Keith kept up, but maybe there was some truth to it. How else did he explain the commute?

Lance was so lost in his thoughts that he almost missed the train, just barely catching it‒ for that, he thanked the Train God, because the trains at night were hell to catch, and he would have been stuck waiting an hour for another one to appear‒ and he settled in for probably the longest ride of his life. He spent that time alternately checking his phone for updates on Hunk, and memorizing the little it said about Keith, barely even listening to the stops since he knew Keith’s would definitely be one of the last ones.

The train blared the stop and Lance scrambled out, out of a station that was dead and empty. He knew it was late but he still hadn’t expected this emptiness. Surely someone had to be around. But no, it looked like a ghost town. Like the ones in Nevada and California that he’d read about as a child, his pudgy fingers tracing the pictures over and over again, scanning for a sign of life that someone had missed but finding none. It looked exactly like that. Nothing around the station, nothing inside the station. It was as if someone had built it with the intention of a town growing around it with houses colliding against each other in a competition for closest to the train station, but had abandoned it early on and the train just stopped there out of habit.

He pressed the speed dial on his phone. “What,” Pidge said grumpily. “Lance, it’s late, or early, the hospital’s coffee machines are out and Shiro banned me from the cafeteria coffee, what do you want?”

“Pidgeotto you’ve got your laptop with you, right?” Lance was brutally cheerful despite being stuck in God knows where with his best friend lying in a hospital bed three hours away. Pidge briefly considered just hanging up the phone and letting Lance go to hell. It was only the thought of what Hunk would say when he found out that kept her going. And the fact that she knew Lance was in total and complete denial, and only Keith’s brand of sharp honesty would snap him out of it.

“Yes,” she replied slowly. Where was he going with this?

“Good. I need you to tell me where the fuck Keith is because there’s nothing out here so it’s obvious he lied on his information.”

Pidge pulled the phone back from her ear, sure she’d misheard. “What? Keith lied on his information sheet?” Shiro glanced at her worriedly, having heard her disbelief‒ he didn’t look surprised though, Pidge registred, the traitor‒ and started talking to Allura animatedly, his voice louder than normal to cover up Pidge’s. His cheeks flushed bright pink.  _Traitor._

“Can you help me or not, Pidgeot?” Lance demanded. “Just track his phone or something.”

“Oh sure,” Pidge replied, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Sure, let me just track his phone. Tap, tap, tap tap, look I have an address!”

“Really?”

“No, you dolt, I need time. I need his phone number, for one thing.” Pidge waited expectantly.

“You don’t have it?”

“Are you trying to tell me you don’t?”

“No!” Lance cried. “I don’t! I wasn’t listening when Allura gave it to me and I threw out his information sheet.”

Pidge groaned. “I’ll ask Shiro, but now you owe me _big time._ ” There was a thump‒ her hand covering the phone, Lance assumed; didn’t she know phones had a mute button? God, Pidge could be so oblivious sometimes‒ and muffled talking. “Okay, I got it. Give me five minutes and I’ll call you back.”

“Please hurry,” Lance said, shivering at the sight of the empty town. His phone flashed _Call Ended_ at him.

Four minutes and thirty two seconds later, he answered the phone to a still grumpy Pidge. “It’s a walk, Lance. Close but not that close.”

“How not that close?” he asked hesitantly. It was just Keith; he could go back if it was too far.

“Let me put this way: how’s your distance running?” Pidge asked, no humor in her tone at all, and he could tell it was no joke. Lance let out a wordless squawk in reply. “I’ll send you the address,” Pidge added before she hung up.

Grumbling, Lance opened the map on his phone and started the walk. Pidge was right, it was a distance. And it _would_ be better if he ran. He yanked his hood up over his hair and started running through the desert, his long limbs settling into a natural rhythm and stride as he wove his way through cacti and rocks. Easily he made his way the few miles to where Keith supposedly lived.

“There’s no fucking way,” Lance muttered to himself when he finally arrived at his destination. “No fucking way.”

He was standing in front of a shack. That was the best way to describe it. Oh it looked like a house, and it wasn’t too shabby, but it was a shack. What else could a dwelling in the desert be called? And Keith actually _lived_ there? Lance spotted a red motorcycle parked around the side of the house as he walked up the porch steps. Huh, he thought. So that rumor was definitely true.

Lance knocked on the door. “Keith?” he called uncertainly, still wanting to believe Pidge was just fucking around with him, trying to help him feel better about Hunk. Honestly, he still felt miserable. He’d fought with his best friend and when push finally came to shove, there was no time for any sweet, flowery, beautiful conversations; the kinds you hear about before people‒ no. Lane stopped that thought in its tracks. Hunk would be fine, he reassured himself. There would be time for flowery conversation later. Apologies and anecdotes about this day. There would be time. Hunk would get to hear it all. “Keith?”

The door swung open and Keith stood there, a scowl on his face. “How did you find me?” he demanded, the fists at his side shaking. Clearly, he’d expected to hide his misinformation.

Lance raised his palms in defense. “Down, boy. I needed to find you but your address was fake so Pidge tracked your phone.”

If anything Keith’s scowl became deeper. “Damn phone,” he muttered. His hand strayed to his pockets, as if he could shatter it right that moment. Realizing the futility of it, Keith just accepted his fate and stood up straighter. “Well you found me. Congratulations. What do you want?”

“Hunk’s in the hospital,” Lance blurted out. “We found out what QNTES is. Pidge and I, I mean. We figured it out. Mostly Pidge. Hunk’s in the hospital because of it. The restaurant was doing something to the drinks. We have to take down the Galra _now_ because they’re our only shot at saving Hunk and we have three days to do it before Hunk dies. Not that he will, because we won’t fail, but still‒ I need you.”

Keith held out a hand. “Slow down,” he said. “I missed most of that. What happened to Hunk? How did Pidge figure out QNTES? How long do we have for Hunk and why?”

“Hunk’s tissues are being flooded with fluid because his body is attacking itself. Pidge realized Hunk’s blood test changes were corresponding to the letters Q, N, T, E, and S. We have three days because otherwise his tissues will be flooded and there’s nothing they can do for him at that point.” All of this came rushing out of Lance on an exhale, his words jumbled and running into each other. He was sure Keith still hadn’t heard a word that was uttered but Keith just grabbed his red leather jacket from a hook by the door and slammed the door shut on his heels as he towed Lance away from the house.

“Get on,” he instructed a few minutes later as the two of them gazed at the red motorcycle‒ Keith in adoration and Lance in terrification. At Lance’s hesitation, Keith added, “This is the fastest way to go, and we need to leave now. Hunk needs us. On.” The last four words were all Lance needed to get his ass in gear and hop on the bike behind Keith. He wrapped his arms around Keith’s waist, a litany of _don’t make it weird don’t make it weird_ running through his head the entire time.

Keith revved the engine and they took off. Lance could feel the shift in Keith’s weight with every turn the bike took. He could feel the way Keith bent closer to the bike, almost purring along with it. It was obvious that Keith loved this bike. It was obvious that he took pride in the way the engine made no sound unless he wanted it to, the way the metal shone in the moonlight. Everything the bike was, all that it had, was because of Keith. It surprised Lance. This boy who had been kicked out of the academy, coerced into joining the force, a secret prodigy‒ he had talents beyond that. It made Lance equal parts surprised and angry. If one had that much to give, why keep it hidden in a dusty shack miles from anywhere? Why not throw everything into life and see what it could give back?

What exactly was Keith hiding from everyone? Did it really warrant misinformation and lies?


	11. Hell or Glory

The motorcycle came to a quiet stop in front of Arus Hospital, Keith finding a great parking spot due to the late hour‒ early hour now, Lance corrected himself. Lance wanted to jump off before the bike was even turned off, leaving Keith far behind, and he wanted to sprint off to find his best friend and swear, _swear_ , he hadn’t meant anything he’d said. Promise that he would do all of Hunk’s paperwork for six months after he came back, if only so that there was a guarantee somewhere that Hunk would need to file paperwork a week from now. Even if the guarantee was just from himself, it would make Lance feel infinitely better. But Lance was Lance, and he knew the difference between himself and a doctor, and instead he felt his mood worsening.

“Hey,” Keith said, gripping Lance’s arm as Lance tried to head off. “You okay?” Lance felt pain at that sentence. Those words just sounded so awkward falling from Keith’s lips, as if he wasn’t used to asking anyone. As if he’d never heard them said in the loving tone that was so often employed by Lance’s parents and siblings. As if he was reading them from a script, but the meaning was so foreign to him that he couldn’t begin to comprehend how to say them. Lance paused in his freeing efforts to glance at Keith. His eyes were wide, honest, open. His lips were parted a little, like he was shocked at himself too. But his face was genuine, and with the scowl gone, he looked years younger.

It kind of reminded Lance of the last time Keith asked if he was okay.

“I’m fine,” Lance said automatically. His habit of protecting his loved ones by not being a nuisance came out in full force, a smile displaying itself and his eyes working double time to mask the tears that threatened his bravado. “Totally good, dude.” He tugged his arm, a gentle reminder to let go.

Keith’s grip tightened then disappeared completely. “Good,” he muttered, not looking at Lance. “Good. So. Hunk?”

Lance nodded. They were there for Hunk, he reminded himself. Hunk was what mattered, not the way Keith’s flush crept lower and lower, past his collarbone, making Lance wonder just how far down it went and‒

“Lance?”

“Hm?” he answered absently, still staring at that patch of skin on Keith’s neck, absolutely fascinated with how red it had become. It had to be impossible for that skin to get any redder, Lance decided.

“Should we… go in now?”

“Hmm.” Lance sighed, and the exhale of his own breath snapped him out of it. He jolted. What the fuck was he doing, staring at Keith’s neck like that? “Ah, I mean‒ Hunk! Yeah, let’s go. I think everyone will want to see us before we can start beating up the Galra.” He turned and began walking away quickly, not even sparing a look behind to make sure the raven haired boy was following.

If he had, he would’ve known there _was_ a way that Keith’s skin could get redder.

But Lance didn't turn around, Keith felt a hot white burst of frustration run in him, and the pair entered the hospital lost in their own minds.

* * *

Any hopes they might've had about Hunk getting better through some recent breakthrough in science disappeared almost instantly. It was clear from the way Shiro’s hands were clasped together. Pidge was on the edge of her seat, legs jiggling maniacally. Allura was the most put together, although her hair flyaways were dreadful and the bags under her eyes betrayed the exhaustion she refused to admit.

Lance approached the group carefully. Keith followed, still annoyed at the way Lance seemed to be holding him at a distance, letting him in enough to see the way a good life could be lived‒ when happiness flowed from your very pores and your whole aura screamed _light_ and _carefree_ and _I_ _love and can be loved_ ‒ but yet gingerly keeping him at arm’s length anyway. All for a stupid rivalry. The worst part was there were times where Keith was sure that was it. They would finally bridge the gap and learn to work together and all that crap Allura and Shiro always spouted, and Keith would finally feel the friendship he’d only known secondhand. The way Hunk had a spare key to Lance’s apartment, the way Lance had so easily offered his home to Pidge and expressed genuine worry when she wasn’t there. The loyalty they had shown to each other: Lance obeying Shiro and Allura despite his obvious desire not to, Lance worrying himself sick over Hunk so soon after their fight. Pidge, choosing to remain in the hospital that didn’t have any coffee for her. And where did Keith fit in? Was there even room for him? He wondered. And if there was, could he find any part of him vulnerable enough to take it?

A nurse appeared, her teddy bear printed scrubs looking just as rumpled as everyone felt. “You can see him now,” she said kindly. Lance thought the teddy bears were a good fit for her. She gave him a sense of calm he hadn’t known since days ago. “We’re moving him to the ICU soon, where visiting policy is strict and limited, so please, see him now.”

Shiro stood up and touched Allura’s shoulder to steady her ascent. “Thank you.”

The nurse nodded and informed them of the procedure‒ due to Hunk’s delicate condition, they had to be careful touching him, and only once they’d followed the thorough hand washing procedure, which she led them through like a drill sergeant. Agitating him in body or mind would be detrimental to his care. But, she assured them as they hesitated to even go in, a visit would be beneficial to strengthening his resolve in his body’s fight. After all, people drew strength from those around them.

The group waited for Lance to go first. He hadn’t wanted to; in fact, Lance had been initially reluctant to be the premiere show for Hunk to see, however he also knew that if anyone was going to see Hunk in this condition, it had to be him. He would never forgive himself otherwise. And still he was shy. Maybe it was because of what Hunk had said before. Him being selfish, and then the fight they had afterwards. And the way Hunk had treated him before the ambulance came. Maybe that was how Hunk really felt. How was anyone to know if this wasn’t just the real Hunk finally being let out? Unfiltered and unbothered by others’ reactions? Reluctance and relief warred on his face and Lance kind of danced in front of the room, delaying the entrance for as long as possible.

Keith was confused. Wasn’t Lance the über friend? Everybody’s Man? Why would he be at a loss for his natural ease just because Hunk was involved? Wouldn’t Hunk make it easier since they were best friends? He didn’t understand but he wanted to make it better. Just as he was about to reach out and offer a gentle pat, a hand on the shoulder to assure Lance that he wasn’t on his own‒ everyone had beaten Keith to the punch of reassurance and Lance soldiered on into the room, Keith’s hand just a tad above its natural resting place, hovering uncertainly around his own hip.

Inside the room was worse, Keith thought. At least in the waiting room they could have imagined if not healthy Hunk, then perhaps one in a better hospital room. Real Hunk laid there motionlessly, tubes and IVs sticking out of him and dripping into his body. He barely looked like the man they remembered, and that made Keith want to run out of the room. Hunk was just so familiar and kind, Keith’s first new friend in a while, and now... well... Hunk’s orange headband and vest laid on the chair next to his bed and without those attached to his body he just seemed small and less friendly‒ more actual bear than teddy bear. Lance gently prodded Hunk with a finger; while the gesture was a reminder of friendship, it was also Lance’s way of checking the wires connected on less conspicuous parts of Hunk.

Hunk blearily opened his eyes. “Lance?” he mumbled, a hand twitching on the bed. “‘S’at you?”

“Yeah,” Lance answered softly. He placed his hand on Hunk’s. “It’s me. Me and Pidge and Shiro and Allura. And Keith.” He felt guilty for having forgotten Keith but he was just so damn happy Hunk was conscious enough to talk. Actually talk, not hurl insults that cut to the bone.

Yet, none of that changed anything for Keith, he still wanted to hit Lance for forgetting him. He cared about Hunk too, damn it!

All four of the remaining people immediately crowded Hunk and spoke over the others, trying to make their messages clear.

“Hunk, please don’t worry about a thing. I filled out all of the insurance forms for you, and I will personally handle your time off and any remaining paperwork you may have,” Allura said generously.

Shiro chimed in. “Lance is gonna put those guys in jail for this, buddy. You’ll be fine.”

“Yeah,” Pidge muttered. “Jail or a body bag. Probably a body bag. I’ll help.” Shiro made his displeasure with that clear‒ he was loathe to let Pidge put herself in harm's way, and she quickly amended, “The doctors.” She rolled her eyes at that; it was obvious she was lying. “I'll help the doctors,” she repeated to Hunk, probably trying to reassure him but really only making him worry more. “I’ll make sure they don’t accidentally give you the wrong dose or something.” Hunk did his best to hide his fear at her words, mood swinging wildly to terror.

Despite that, at once, Lance, Shiro and Allura gave Pidge a dirty look. A _what the fuck are you doing_ look.

“Thanks, Pidge,” Hunk gasped out, his face spasming with pain. “Where’s… where’s Keith? I don't hear him... Thought he was… here.”

Keith stepped forward. “I am,” he replied, knees brushing the edge of Hunk’s bed.

Hunk nodded. “Help Lance… He doesn’t know.. when to quit…”

“Hey!” Lance said indignantly. “I know when, I just choose to ignore it!” Hunk laughed at that.

“Lance, I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m sorry… we fought… I… didn’t mean it…”

Lance swiped at the tears that traitorously burned down his cheeks. “I’m sorry too,” he whispered. “I have no excuse. It wasn't your fault; it was mine.”

An IV beeped loudly and a nurse quickly came in to replenish it. “A little more of that morphine, Mr. Garrett?” She didn't wait for a reply. She hit a button and Hunk’s face slackened. He moaned quietly with relief.

The nurse motioned to them. “I think that's enough for today. We'll keep doing what we can and let you know.” Her mouth downturned and everyone read between the lines.

Hunk was going to die.

* * *

Keith was a charmer, even with his abrupt and standoffish personality, he knew that. Okay, he didn’t exactly know, but enough people had told him that he felt comfortable enough to call it a fact. So why his anti-charm was another charming person‒ actually charming, Keith thought‒ he would never know. It didn’t help, it only sucked. “I’m telling you, Sage Sushi Barbecue is the _only_ lead we have,” he said, leaning back in the chair he was sitting in. “We need to go there; the file doesn’t have enough on its own for the case.”

“That's not good enough!” Lance shouted at Keith in the conference room of the police station. “We need more!” They’d been at this for an hour. Keith was the only one with a logical conclusion, but Lance still refused to accept it.

Pidge sighed loudly. “Lance,” she said tiredly, her hands propping her head up, “there is no more. We’ve all been over this. We can’t bust down Sage Sushi Barbecue doors. We’ve been over the files as many times as possible and we’ve concluded that that’s our best lead, but it has to wait.”

Lance crossed his arms over his chest. He was the only one standing; Pidge and Keith had long since given up and taken seats on opposite sides of the room, all their energy drained from the hospital visit. Meanwhile Lance felt like Pidge probably did after six shots of espresso‒ wired and ready to fight someone for control. “Hunk _can’t_ wait,” he snapped. His hands tapped out a rhythm so complex he couldn’t begin to comprehend how he knew it‒ just that if he focused, it would stop. He opted to let it slide.

Keith’s head jerked up. “Jesus, we know! We care about him too!”

“Oh you care? You care? Keith Kogane cares?” Lance tossed his hands up. “Great! That’s so great, because I’m sure Hunk can do a lot with your care.” He injected as much sarcasm as possible into that sentence before following up with, “He _needs_ the antidote.”

“The one the Galra might have,” Pidge put in for some more drama, unable to stop herself from being the only realistic point of view. Lance had taken optimist and Keith was forever the pessimist, so Pidge remained the only realist. “Maybe. Maybe not.”

Lance ignored that‒ he knew that was how she coped with emotions that churned in her‒ and he chose to get right into Keith’s space. “If you care so much, Kogane, you would be helping me, instead of telling me to stop! We don’t necessarily need a warrant to go to Sage Sushi, we don’t even need to wait until daylight hours, we can just take one of those shady guys with us and tell everyone we saw them in there after hours. Easy.”

 _Not_ easy‒” Keith objected.

“Oh, what?” Lance interrupted, “The precious prodigy, so smart and talented and important, guess fucking what, Keith? _We don’t need you!”_

Keith yelled back, “You sure fucking do since you keep fucking _failing_!”

“You think you can show up and _replace_ me?”

“Lance I don’t think that’s what Keith meant‒” Pidge’s voice got lost in the fray of testosterone and anger.

“I’m not going down without a fight!” Lance shouted, and his entire body tensed in preparation but his phone rang over his last words and Lance ignored Keith to answer it.

After the phone call, Pidge explained to Lance the many errors of his ways while Keith tried to calm down. He used the breathing exercises Shiro had taught him after the last fight he and Lance had had. Unbelievably, they were working. Shiro was magic, Keith figured as he took his next deep inhale. Then he caught the tail end of Pidge’s sentence: “‒ do it.”, and the inhale came too sharply to be relaxing.

He interrupted their quiet conversation. “What? Do what?” With Pidge, it was always better to get in on the early stages of the plans. It wouldn’t save you from being an active participant, but it would definitely save you the way Pidge coerced you into being a participant. She had no mercy, not even for the people she loved.

Pidge turned to face him, a maniacal gleam in her eyes. “Sage Sushi Barbecue. We’re going. Now.”

Keith was puzzled. “Now? Why?” Hadn’t they just agreed to wait until daylight?

Lance’s face darkened, a scowl settling unnaturally onto his face. It was unnerving to see, and Keith hoped it was just temporary. “That was Shiro. They’re moving Hunk to ICU earlier than planned. We’re running out of time.”

Keith grabbed his jacket, slung on the back of a chair. “Let’s go.” He assumed, hoped, begged that they were going sans convicts, because what a paperwork fiasco that would be and it was with great relief that Lance commandeered a squad car and began driving them, back seat locks disengaged, to Sage Sushi Barbecue.

* * *

“Is this place fucking empty?” Lance hissed. The three of them were crouched by the dumpsters Lance, Hunk and Keith had originally hidden the first time they’d done a stakeout there.

Pidge rolled her eyes. “Lance, shut the fuck up. Of course it’s empty, it’s fucking three forty-five in the morning. People are _sleeping._ Obviously not us but‒”

“Shh!” Keith motioned for them to come forward.

“I’m sure some people are,” Pidge finished, unfazed by Keith overestimating the gravity of the situation. “It’s just a restaurant,” she said at their hesitance. “Once it closes, people tend to leave it alone.”

That was true for a lot of things, Keith thought. It bore remembering for when he was left alone. Once it closes, people tend to leave it alone. When he was younger and his parents had died, he’d closed up. No one could get through to him. He fell silent for weeks. Once it closes, people tend to leave it alone. After numerous attempts, they’d given up. Just a grief thing, they’d said. By the time he’d been passed around to house number two, people tended to leave it alone.

Yeah, Keith thought, shifting his eyes from Pidge to Lance. Once it closes, people tend to leave it alone.

* * *

The doctors didn’t know what to make of the latest development in their most baffling case. Hunk’s eyes were growing bigger and bigger, each growth increment also increasing the yellow coloring, until finally his pupils were so contracted that all you could see was yellow. His eyes were yellow. As far as the hospital was concerned, as long as Hunk could see‒ which they assumed he could based on behavior and information he’d shared‒ then they didn’t want to try anything else, in case it aggravated his system. During one of his particularly bad times, when he’d yelled at Allura and then Shiro, Shiro stepped in front of her, his arm covering her protectively as Hunk thrashed in the bed.

“Get me out!” he bellowed again to them, arms and legs flailing around to escape the bonds that held him. The nurses had added more as his bouts of anger increased. “Stop this!”

“Hunk, please!” Shiro cried. “I’m just here to help you!” He could feel Allura shaking slightly behind him, and was inconceivably pissed at the very idea of anything scaring her. She was captain, and nothing was beyond her control. “We’re trying to help!” Shiro’s voice was raspy from the shouting he’d done.

Then suddenly, the thrashes slowed and Hunk came back to himself. “I don’t… I don’t understand,” he sobbed, his voice exhausted from the toll all of this was having on his body. His pupils still glowing yellow‒ Shiro wondered if that was temporary or if that would always be a haunting reminder for Hunk‒ he began weeping brokenly, crying out for the people he loved that he couldn’t be near anymore.

* * *

After two of the three days, Hunk grew weaker and weaker in between his bouts of anger. It seemed that that was the only time he was strong, but it was in those times that he resisted the medicine the most. He wanted to be himself, but when he was he just cried in between apologies or apologized in between cries, and it was intolerable. Doctors stopped being quiet when talking about his death, and Hunk eulogized himself when he was coherent. In between coherency, he was told, was this horrible monster who told Lance that he was selfish and unwanted, who calmly explained to the Keith why he was incapable of love‒ because he had never seen it and no one would ever love him‒ and who had played “matchmaker” with Shiro and Allura by telling Allura all of the ways Shiro’s father left him battered and broken.

He’d never hated himself so much, but he had no idea what to do. They hadn’t started dialysis for him yet, a risky move but his kidneys were deteriorating slower than they had thought, but without Lance, there was no hope. He just waited for death; it came for him slowly, in the changes of the IVs and the monitors that collected around him. And then‒

A tense call from Lance to Shiro.

Lance telling Shiro something he didn’t want to hear.

Shiro screaming at the phone long after Lance had hung up, his voice going hoarse even though he knew it was futile.

Shiro explaining the situation to Allura, who had just touched his hand before stepping back and allowing him to run out of the room.

Allura, who stayed with Hunk unyieldingly. A pillar of support for everyone in the precinct, but now especially Hunk. She’d collected as many favors as she was owed and had the night shift covering the day shift, then had another precinct come in to cover the night shift’s people. All of this for Hunk, a man whose constant mood swings made him feel worse because everyone was so nice to him, and he was just horrible back.

Hunk laid there quietly as Allura held his hand. He fluttered in and out of consciousness, his only noises groans of pain as the doctors went in and out of the room. Nurses joined the fray occasionally, one of them dedicated solely to changing his bedpan frequently; a side effect of the hypoalbumin, Allura was told quietly as Hunk tried to sleep.

A nurse walked in and placed a hand on Allura’s shoulder. “It’s time to move him,” she said firmly. Allura’s eyes began watering and she avoided direct eye contact with the nurse. “We have to start dialysis now.”

“What level is he at?” whispered Allura. She clutched at Hunk’s hand tighter. Her eyes swam but the tears refused to fall. She’d been holding his hand for almost a day now; she didn’t want to let go. Not when there would be no other hand to hold his.

The nurse hummed and began making preparations to transfer Hunk, her movements sure and her hands deftly sliding a plastic tube into the large vein on his arm. Allura bit her lip, watching Hunk’s eyes twitch beneath his eyelids. She hoped he was asleep and that he was dreaming of something good.

Finally, the nurse answered, “His kidneys are functioning at 18%. It’s best to move him now, before the percentage falls below 15% and it becomes a bigger risk to transfer and start the process.”

“18% seems a little low. Why didn’t you start it earlier?” Allura questioned a little too sharply but the nurse paid her no mind.

“We believed there was neither benefit nor risk to simply keeping him here versus starting dialysis. He wasn’t quite at the severity of symptoms that would’ve required us to move him immediately, nor was he doing well enough to postpone it any longer than the timeframe given to you previously. As emotional as he is with people around him, that is what is keeping his body fueled, as small a fuel as it may seem.”

Allura let out a gasp, barely controlling it into a sharp exhale that was almost silent. “So he’s still under the three day limit then?”

The nurse sealed the plastic tubing and turned to face her. “Yes. Without a Hail Mary, I’m afraid that’s still the time limit. We don’t know if the dialysis will work well enough to extend it even a little bit; either way, it’s still abject dependence on a machine, and that itself poses a risk to him. Even the smallest germ can set his dominoes tumbling.”

The nurse’s tone was unflinching but Allura appreciated the straightforward way of talking. No beating around the bush and hoping for miracles; this nurse would tell her what was going on and what she could expect. It was appreciated but secretly she wished the nurse would give her just the smallest bit of hope. Something to hold on to besides the limp hand of a dear friend.

“Oh,” the nurse added as she wheeled Hunk out of the room. “The doctor will be in shortly to talk to you. Please stay here and wait for him.”

Allura was confused but nevertheless waited in the room, and sure enough, the doctor bustled in, a folder in his hands.

She stood but the doctor shook his head. “Remain seated, please,” he said. She slowly sat back down. He searched the folder for a sheet before speaking. “I’m afraid I have some bad news. As I’m sure you’re well aware, Mr. Garrett’s white blood cell count was low when you arrived, however it has now reached even lower levels,” he tapped a finger against the sheet, displaying Hunk’s most recent blood test results. It was all medical babble and acronyms, but Allura could still make out the unbelievably _low_ number, “breaching the expected range we had originally anticipated for much later in his time. Due to his body’s inability to fight off even the tiniest of maladies, we’ve elected to isolate him within one of our chambers.”

“What? But the nurse just said‒” Allura could barely keep her sentences straight and she struggled to form a coherent one.

He seemed to understand regardless. “There could be detrimental effects without the outside influences of his friends prompting him to fight, be it the illness or those who surround him, yes; an even worse detriment would be if someone dragged in a virus unknowingly. He would be completely defenseless against it.” Allura opened her mouth to protest but the doctor continued hastily, “We would of course have defenses for him. Antibiotics and such would be put into place immediately, however his kidneys are functioning at minimal capacity. It would be a struggle for them to filter out any excess medications‒ a crucial function of the kidneys, ma’am‒ especially considering they are currently struggling to filter out his normal bodily fluids as is.”

“Right,” Allura agreed, deflating. Her heart ached, and it occurred to her all too sharply that she was the only one there, that everyone else had left to chase down the criminals responsible for Hunk, and that her solitude put her in charge of asking questions. “Is there any chance of isolation visitors, maybe a special handwashing routine and outfit, something of that sort?”

The doctor frowned. “No, ma’am. Isolation means isolation.” He gathered his folder again, standing up in the process, but Allura was too weighed down to even fake manners. Her mother would be so disappointed in her. The doctor passed Allura, then paused. He stretched a hand to the back of her chair, squeezing once. “I’m sorry,” he said sincerely, before continuing on his way.

He left, and Allura let her guard down, let herself cry‒ for Hunk, for Lance, for Shiro, for Pidge, and for the loneliest ache she felt in her chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow me on [tumblr](http://tessagray-herondale-carstairs.tumblr.com/) and let's scream together.


	12. I don't want anything in between

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slight gore in regards to injuries and blood, but nothing too graphic (I hope).

“Here’s the plan,” Lance said, slotting a cartridge into his gun and putting it into his holster, in a rig set up across the street from the restaurant. “We go in quietly, demand for them to come out, but in the same instant, we start shooting.” They knew they would find the gang in the hidden basement of Sage Sushi Barbecue, but only thanks to Pidge. Pidge, who’d been quietly working the whole time Lance and Keith fought, and realized that in creating a serum that could destroy the human body, the Galra had inadvertently left a small hole in their solid wall, allowing Pidge to track trace elements hidden within the serum, using the last of Hunk’s blood.  

Shiro checked the sights on his own gun. “Lance,” he admonished. “We need the cure for Hunk.”

Lance considered that. “Okay, new plan. We go in, demand for them to give us the cure, start shooting after a minute,” Lance amended reluctantly. He slid on his kevlar vest, hands deftly tightening the straps.

“I like Lance’s plan,” Keith interrupted, his own vest already on and guns already tucked in. A knife slipped into his boots, gently wrapped in its own cover, and he was ready.

“I'm serious,” Shiro insisted, reaching for Lance’s vest to double check that it was secure. Lance squirmed out of the way and Shiro sighed, giving Lance a dad face.

“I _know_ I'm good,” Lance replied exasperatedly. “You don't have to check my shield every time. It only fell off that once! It’s fine, Shiro!”

Keith just snorted as Shiro raised one eyebrow but chose to let the subject drop.

“Besides,” Lance added, a feral grin overtaking his features, “no one touches Hunk without consequences. And if what that asshole said is true, then this is exactly where they’ll be, and this is exactly where they’ll expect us to come in. Thace, or whoever the fuck is below Zarkon, he’ll be protecting him. We have to go after the higher ups first. Shiro, I want you to find the cure while Keith and I provide covering fire.”

Keith paused. Shouldn’t Shiro be providing them with the details and intricacies of a plan? For that matter, Lance had barely begun to cover it. He supposed Lance chose to chalk it up to their experiences, to create plans on the fly, but before he could mention anything of that sort, Shiro slipped in an earpiece and sent Lance a thumbs up as they rolled into their places.

* * *

They split up once they’d entered the building, Shiro one way, leading a squad of advanced officers further in, and Lance and Keith another way, the two of them on a duo mission to find Zarkon. Normally it would have been the other way around‒ more people for a higher positioned person‒ however Lance had prioritized the cure and refused to accept the risk of not enough people meaning a failure to retrieve the cure. As they crouched and moved along the hallway, Lance grabbed Keith’s arm, yanking him back. “What the fuck are you doing?” he hissed, just quietly enough for Keith to hear. “We have to wait for Shiro to get in position.”

“I’m tired of waiting,” Keith snapped back, knowing he was being petulant but unable to help it. He cared about Hunk, and he hated the dread building in his stomach the longer they went without finding the cure. It felt foreign and inhuman, and Keith desperately wanted it gone. Lance’s face whenever he mentioned Hunk felt like a punch in the gut too, and Keith definitely didn’t need any of those.

Lance bristled. “Too bad,” he retorted. He wasn’t risking the most important mission of his life because of Keith’s impulsivity. “We wait for Shiro.” He peeked out from behind their cover and gazed at their enemies.

While they waited, Keith sighed and shifted his legs slightly, pulling them into a more comfortable position, but also into the best position possible for fast movement. Lance could feel boredom rising in himself as well, a burgeoning growth that suffered greatly. ADHD at its finest, Lance thought.

When Keith sighed for the tenth time in as many minutes, Lance glanced at him, his mouth opening but never speaking. “What?” Keith asked eventually.

Lance flushed bright red, snapping his mouth shut. “Nothing,” he mumbled eventually, looking away from Keith but not really looking at anything at all. Lance pressed a hand to his earpiece as if trying to force Shiro to give them the signal through telepathy alone.

“No, really,” Keith said, this time more gently. It was obvious Lance had something to say, so why wasn’t he saying it? And why was Keith encouraging him to say it? They were in _the middle of something!_ “You can tell me.” Honestly, what the fuck was the matter with him.

Lance mumbled something under his breath.

“What was that?” Keith persisted.

Again, a mumble. Jesus fuck.

Keith tried again. “I couldn’t hear you.”

Lance took a deep breath and held it in, trying to gather his thoughts and remember that this was the most important mission of his fucking life, and his best friend’s life was at stake so he really shouldn’t even be saying what he was going to say, let alone think it, but he released it all in one powerful exhale anyway. “Iknowwe’reinthemiddleofaserioussituationbutIthinkyou’rereallycuteandIguesswecoulddiesoIjustwantedtotellyou... Um. So.” He ran a hand through his hair and looked away, a frown on his face and his shoulders tight and hunched, as if he was protecting himself from something, and not from the danger that surrounded them.

It took Keith a minute to process this. All his fucking time thinking about Lance and how nice it would be to have those lips on his, those hands holding his own‒ _wasted_. All of it was possible! All of it was within reach and Keith wanted so badly to grab Lance and tell him he’d been feeling the exact same way, but right then the world as his brain saw it exploded in a kaleidoscope of colors and edges, sharp and bright, cutting Keith to the core but in the best ways possible. He didn’t know what the fuck was taking Shiro so long, but he was so glad, because he was pretty sure he died.

Lance had turned an even deeper shade of red in the middle of his ramble, and Keith had to focus very carefully on the scene around him‒ the never changing darkness, the way the emergency lights of the restaurant played on Lance’s face. And suddenly Keith was tired, so tired, of living the way he had. Denying himself the ideas that he wanted and craved friendship, love, all because he was afraid. The risks outweighed the potential gains, so Keith Kogane had always told himself he didn’t want for anything, because to want what you could not have would only lead to misery and pain.

Still, he was pretty sure he’d died.

Died and gone to Heaven, he was sure, as both of them surged at the same time and met together in one hot collision of mouths and air. There was cold, and then there was hot _hot hot, too hot, one of them would get burned. Too much too much too little not enough overflowing always never more less hurt love love love._

Their earpieces crackled. “-ance? Keith? I’m in position; on my mark.” Shiro’s voice came through as clear as if he were standing right next to them and they broke apart guiltily.

“Copy that,” Lance whispered, licking his lips and shooting Keith a dazzlingly sweet smile. It was both parts sinner and saint, and Keith never wanted to stop looking at it. Lance grabbed Keith’s hand and squeezed gently‒ a promise of tomorrow that they both would take.

After the big mission.

After.

* * *

“Everybody, hands in the air!” Shiro shouted, his gun pointed at the man standing in the middle of the room. After a while, you just had an instinct for where the main boss was. Shiro could tell from the mad energy that crackled from him, from the way everyone looked at him immediately. But something was‒ This was‒ “Zarkon,” Shiro growled, instantly recognizing the man who gave Shiro his prosthetic arm and caused him to fail in his first case, but right then the room exploded into action.

There wasn’t a lot of people packed into the room, and for that, Shiro was grateful. He kept his gun trained on Zarkon‒ _finally_ , he would have his revenge‒ and watched as Keith and Lance advanced on who he assumed were the next highest up. Thace and Sendak.

But something was wrong. Keith was hesitating, and Zarkon wasn’t fearful at all‒ he was _laughing_.

“What’s the matter, little fool?” he said to Keith in a purr. “Can’t you threaten your own father?”

Keith swallowed visibly and held the gun a little tighter, shifting his focus back to Thace. Zarkon laughed and Shiro’s head reeled. Father? Keith? Zarkon? What did it all _mean?_ It hurt to think about and Shiro forced himself to concentrate on the task at hand.

Lance whipped his head around to look at Keith. “He’s your _father?”_ he shouted, and Keith recoiled at Lance’s expression‒ it was pure fury and a whole lot of hurt, and even Shiro’s heart ached to see it. Lance turned back to face Sendak. “You’ve been lying to us all along! I can’t believe you!”

“I‒” he started, convulsively swallowing again, “I‒ I didn’t know until-until later, but I‒”, he stammered.

Before Keith could finish his sentence, before Shiro could even blink, Zarkon whipped out a gun and shot.

* * *

It happened so fast‒ Shiro couldn’t move, couldn’t blink, could barely breathe, but Lance reacted nearly before Zarkon shot. He flew to Keith, in front of Keith, shielding him from the bullet. A guardian angel, furious and avenging, distrust and betrayal brewing in his eyes, but protecting with love nonetheless.

But something was wrong, Shiro realized.

In all of the action‒ the speed of the movement, the desperation in Lance’s eyes, the way Keith for all his agility just kept swallowing over and over again, trying to find words that would never come‒ Lance’s kevlar vest shifted somehow, a buckle came loose somewhere, and the bullet hit right where he wasn’t protected anymore.

One wrong move and Lance crumpled to the ground and Keith stared at where Lance had fallen, horrified.

Shiro didn’t waste time. His brain finally kicked into overdrive, and he shot off three times: one straight to Zarkon’s temple, another to Sendak’s chest, and the last one to Thace’s leg, effectively killing two and incapacitating one. Keith was hiding something, something big, and Shiro was almost certain that there had been an undercurrent of pressure and tension boiling underneath Zarkon’s earlier words to Keith. But where did Thace fit in?

“Keith,” he ordered, running to Thace’s side, “put pressure on that wound, as hard as you can make it. You,” he said next, kicking Thace in the leg, “ tell me where I can find the QNTES cure. Now!”

Thace gripped his leg tightly, a moan escaping him. “Zarkon’s… office,” he ground out, only barely managing to stop the screaming.

“Traitor!” a voice hissed, and Shiro looked up to see a woman with white hair lunging towards him, blade in her hand. Startled, Shiro jumped back, preparing his chest to take the brunt of the hit‒ his kevlar was still intact, he thought miserably, sparing a glance at where Keith kneeled next to Lance, but that one thought distracted him long enough for the woman’s real goal.

She cut him along his face, the bridge of his nose. Shiro cried out in pain‒ this felt different than any other wound he’d had before, a part of him noted distantly; another distracting thought‒ and she lunged again, this time for his arm. Shiro swiveled just in time to avoid a majority of her stab, but the place she hit instead burned, _God why did it burn?_ He heard Keith cry out behind him and he screwed his eyes shut‒ pain and concentration in equal parts‒ and fired off two shots in the woman’s general direction. Shiro heard a thud and opened his eyes with relief, only to discover the thud had been a door slamming shut. The woman was gone.

There was no time to chase after her. Hunk was on a clock and by God, they wouldn’t lose him. Shiro hauled Thace up and forced him to lead the way to Zarkon’s main quarters, ignoring the struggling breathing of the two boys behind him as Keith cradled Lance in his arms and did his best to keep him alive.

“Damn it!” Keith cried as Shiro left the room. “You can’t leave me like this, Lance! Lance!” Keith’s voice was ragged, his breathing irregular and fast, too fast for someone as healthy as him. “Please,” he begged to no one in particular. “Please don’t.”

* * *

Allura wept until her eyes just wouldn’t anymore, until the tears subsided and her nose stopped running. But then a cry rang through the hospital.

“ _Code blue!_ I got a code blue! Gunshot wound, coding blue, I need 5 ccs of epinephrine _now!”_ someone screamed and Allura felt ice water pour over her all at once.

She ran outside, her feet pounding the floor, and watched helplessly as paramedics wheeled in the gunshot wound coding blue, his brown hair familiar but the pale skin making him unrecognizable. It was only until she noticed Shiro and Keith running beside the gurney that the features fell into place. The man on the gurney was Lance.

Another nurse: “Epinephrine isn’t working; beginning compressions! Charge the paddles!” He began pumping Lance’s lungs to a steady beat. Allura’s mind filled in the childish way to remember the rhythm. _Beat, beat, beat, another one bites the dust. Beat, beat, beat, another one bites the dust._ The nurse bent over and swiftly breathed into Lance‒ how could she do that while the gurney was moving as fast as it was?‒ his chest rising, rising, with no effect.

The rest became a blur: a timeline of a few seconds expanding into decades of memories that Allura would never forget but could barely process as it happened. Lance was… dying?

More people followed the gurney, one administering what could only be more epinephrine, another holding the recharging paddles, all racing Lance to the doors marked _Authorized Only_ , and a nurse‒ the same one who transferred Hunk, Allura thought dimly‒ stepped into Shiro’s way. “Excuse me!” she said harshly, one hand flat on his chest. “Sir, you _cannot_ go through those doors.”

Keith didn’t spare a glance at her, didn’t stop, didn’t even hesitate to barrel through the doors although Shiro did stop to give the nurse a _look._ “That’s my officer,” he said in a low tone. “You _will_ let me in.”

The nurse crossed her arms, her head held high as a colleague argued with Keith behind the door. “Sir, you’re in need of medical attention yourself. Sit down and we’ll get you in to see a doctor.”

It was only then that Allura noticed a gaping slash on Shiro’s face, crossing the bridge of his nose. She wondered how she missed it before then. She wondered how Shiro had managed to forget about it himself. It was deep and ugly, a wound that would leave a scar there forever, serrated flesh, blood dripping onto his face and the floor beneath, soaking his clothes along the way‒ yet Shiro didn’t seem to care about any of that. He nodded once. “Fine,” he said curtly before handing her a vial. “This is for Hunk Garrett. It’s the Hail Mary he needs. Make sure he gets it.” The nurse left to deliver the vial and search for a doctor who wasn’t occupied.

Shiro limped towards Allura, his leg twisting in on itself, and her heart wrenched with the pain all of this had to be causing him. First Hunk, now Lance. And it was obvious Keith wasn’t in the best shape. He approached Allura, a small smile on his face despite everything that had just happened.

“Hey,” he started. A loud clatter interrupted them and Keith came stumbling out of the door, his nose bleeding and a wild look in his eyes. He immediately rushed again, only for a security guard to physically block him. “Keith!” Shiro called his name several times before Keith finally whipped around, searching for the voice.

Keith sent a murderous glare to the guard, who seemed wholly unimpressed with his fury, and finally turned to face Shiro and Allura. His whole posture screamed unadulterated rage. His shoulders were tense, stiff, his back ramrod straight and his hands shoved into his pockets that bulged with hidden fists. Shiro touched his shoulder gently, wincing through his own pain and resisting the urge to cry out.

Shiro said, “Keith, we have to wait.” His hand stayed on Keith’s shoulder until he nodded once and some of the wild dissipated from his eyes. “As I was saying,” Shiro continued. “Allura, what happened with Hunk?”

Allura’s eyes widened; it was troubling but she had forgotten about Hunk, about the entire purpose of Shiro and Lance and Keith’s disappearance. “H-he was transferred to dialysis,” she stammered out, now shaking with shock. Her hands trembled and she squeezed them together in order to ease it slightly, but her voice overcompensated with more tremors. “They-they said he w-would need to be isolated for his last d-day.”

Both Keith and Shiro’s faces fell slack. “Isolation?” Keith blurted out. “They’re isolating him?”

She nodded, unable to speak because she knew her voice would grow weaker with each sentence.

“But we found the cure!” Keith argued. “We found it and Lance, he-he took a bullet for that! He took a bullet for… for me.”

Allura’s head drooped down. She just didn’t have the strength to lift it up anymore. The day’s events had left her utterly drained and exhausted, and it felt like running a marathon even to blink.

Keith pivoted, his face pleading to Shiro. “He’s going to fine, right?” he asked desperately. The timbre of his voice was lower than she had ever heard it. “H-Hunk, I mean. Lance is going to be fine, too, but Hunk will definitely be okay, right?”

Shiro’s face tightened and Keith swiveled back, his eyes darting back and forth uncertainly. He looked like a wild animal cornered and trapped, which made Allura wonder, how does one help a wild thing without a desire to be tamed? How can someone force that which is naturally free into growing roots and settling down? When every fiber of their being protests the chains that shackle and restrain them? She didn’t know the answer to that, but the oddest feeling prickled her neck. It made her feel as if Keith had suddenly grown entirely too big for the building they were in, bigger than the skin that captured him, and now he was searching for a way to tamp it down without angering the wild beast within; suddenly she wasn’t sure what to do for him.

She didn’t need an answer to her unsaid question; not when Keith suddenly tucked tail and disappeared to places unknown. Her eyebrows puckered as she watched him leave, an eleven forming between them as she considered the idea that maybe he’d just never really had someone to care about before, and that this was entirely new territory for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FUCK. THAT ART IS SO BEAUTIFUL. CREDIT TO [Cerealism](http://cerealism.tumblr.com/) for it, it makes me cry every time I look at it. Go listen to She's My Winona too, because honestly??? FUCK. The lyrics fit so well. Just change POVs a lot lmao.


	13. Never the same person when I go to sleep

Anger was a secondary emotion, Keith knew from the therapist who came the closest to making headway with him. She drew an iceberg and the ocean that covered most of it, told him anger was at the tip and the ocean of his brain hid the cause of it, the primary emotion that fueled the anger he displayed so often. Keith had listened to her with rapt attention, dutifully listing the primary emotions he thought were to blame for the way he exploded. He listed the hurt and fear and anxiety that flooded him even as a child, and she was the only one who actually listened.

But that was a long time ago, this Keith thought bitterly, a sour taste building in the back of his throat. Back before he learned other people could not be trusted and that they would always betray you in the end. When she told his guardians everything he’d told her. When they realized he was too much to handle, and gave him back _no we don’t want this one he’s broken broken broken._

Still he knew anger was a secondary emotion, which meant that all the rage that fueled him and the fire that boiled underneath his skin is the result of another one fanning the flame inside. Which meant his angry, scowling facade was just a cover up for the dark hurt he carried around like a weapon. Not that it mattered when he swung at anything that came at him.

Yet once you get too used to the anger, it becomes the only emotion you can recognize; the rest are immediately tamped down into the buried mound of ashes underneath the flames. Until anger is all that your body will accept and acknowledge. Until hurting everyone with it, lashing out and wounding to avoid being wounded, is the norm, and nothing anyone says will change how you react.

What do you do with your anger then? Keith wondered. What do you do with anger so familiar that the primary emotion causing it is unrecognizable, unfixable? What do you do with your anger then?

Anger was a secondary emotion, Keith knew. For him it was the only one he was capable of feeling. But his chest ached with a crater-sized desire to know something different; just once, he wished he could know what everyone else seemed to know‒ the coping mechanisms and various emotions that helped people develop solid connections with one another.

He watched Hunk go through his dialysis, his forehead resting on the paned glass between him and one of his closest friends, and if he closed his eyes, his daymares were filled with what Lance could be experiencing at that moment. Caring for other people was exhausting, he decided. It left you empty, wanting more and getting nothing. His chest ached fiercely‒ a black hole consuming the supernova that threatened to change his world.

* * *

When Keith returned to the waiting room, the marked difference between the two versions Allura had seen was obvious. Keith before had been shouting and fiery, all sharp edges and cutting. This Keith was quiet, resigned, rounded and soft, markedly _less_ overall. Like someone had thrown water over him, and he was now superheated steam, still able to hurt, but only in the right conditions. Regardless, she knew they all felt the same emotions, the same ache in all of their bodies.

The aching in everyone’s chests got worse when the Lance’s doctor came out to see them. The black hole expanded when Allura crumpled in on herself. And the supernova exploded when the doctor opened his mouth.

* * *

A nurse‒ not the dialysis one, Shiro noted‒ wheeled Hunk in at the last possible moment, giving them a sharp warning that saying goodbye would have to be short. Although Hunk was doing better by the minute, he couldn't stay because he needed his rest. Shiro wheeled both beds together‒ Allura and Keith stood to the side, watching; Allura had both hands pressed to her face and Keith was motionless, paralyzed with fear and consumed with crushing guilt. Pidge seemed just as motionless as Keith. Shiro wasn’t sure who called her, but he was glad someone did.

Although he wished she didn’t have to be there. It was too much for her to handle. Even though Shiro had seen Allura go through some pretty tough stuff, he wished with all of his heart that she didn’t have to be there. To see the ugly battle scars on all of them, but the worst on the two boys he knew she had the softest spot for.

  
Hunk reached through the hospital bed's bar to touch Lance's hand.

  
Lance's eyes fluttered, but it was obvious to everyone in the room that there wasn't much left in him. All the doctors and their work had really left him drained and exhausted. He weakly clasped Hunk's hand in his, coughing wetly. Keith didn’t want to look, his face tight and eye focused on something far away, but it was hard not to miss the way blood dripped from Lance’s mouth and hit the bed sheets in front of him. _How had the doctors not already stopped that from happening?_ Shiro wondered, but maybe… maybe they knew it was too late. Shiro watched the way Keith assessed Lance’s condition from a distance, and from the way Keith carefully hid his reactions, he wondered what exactly was going on in there, and just how badly this would affect Keith later on.

  
Lance’s other hand gripped the sheets tightly. "H-hey," he rasped. His voice was hoarse and rough. It made Allura break into fresh sobs. Keith's eyes glittered with tears that he refused to let fall as he determinedly look another direction, and Shiro found himself wiping away some of his own. Pidge had fallen to the floor, her hands gripping her knees so tightly her knuckles strained against her skin.

  
"Lance," Hunk sobbed, "please. P-please don't..." he trailed off, but Shiro realized his sentence didn't need an end. They all knew it _was_ the end.

  
Lance gasped in a ragged breath; it sounded like a laugh. "D-don't worry," he managed, pulling another laugh out of God knew where. He didn’t have any energy to lift his head, but it was typical Lance to try and lift the mood of any situation. "It was-it was... worth it. Saving you…” His eyelids fluttered shut.

Keith lunged forward and shook the bed roughly. “Lance!” he cried out. Everyone pretended they couldn’t see the way the tears flew off his face.

Lance fell into a coughing fit so hard that more blood spattered the bed sheets around him. “Miss me already, mullet?” he asked, struggling to breathe for the fit of laughter that caused him. Lance turned to Shiro. “D-don’t… feel bad, Shiro,” he said, relatively calmly for someone in his situation, “M’fault for not… not lettin’ you doubl’check m’vest. ‘Lura n’Pidg‒”

His eyes shut, his face fell slack, and the monitor flatlined.

No matter how many code blues they called, how many ccs of epinephrine they delivered, how many paddles they charged‒ not a single person in that hospital could bring Lance McClain back to them.

* * *

Later on, Keith learned that he hated hospitals. Hated the way they would try to reassure you of something beyond the nothing, even though anyone with a brain knew there was nothing beyond the something. But if there had ever been anyone without a brain that would never give up, Lance McClain would’ve found the something.

Keith found himself praying to a god he didn’t believe in, for a boy he loved for so long, but only realized he loved for half a day that felt like years, for a boy who he would have loved for years. To help that boy find the something that no one else had ever found.

He hated the world around him, but the only person who would’ve made it a little less bleak was the reason it was bleak.

* * *

Some days, Keith forgets that Lance isn't there. Some days he walks into the precinct and pulls up a chair in the space between what were Hunk and Lance's desks, only to remember that Lance's desk is his desk now. Some days he just stares at Pidge's desk, the one she's almost never at anymore, and tries to remember the boy who made sunshine in a fluorescent building. He knows he's not the only one. He knows the others feel it, in the way Shiro refuses to let anyone out without triple checking their kevlar, a convulsive habit that ratchets up the anxiety but reminds everyone of their priority, in the way Allura will keep her door shut during lunch, in the way they all ignore Shiro gently calling her through that door, and the way a door that thick can barely muffle her cries. In the way Hunk will buy way too much food and violently throw it in a trash can the minute he sees the empty desk Keith can’t bring himself to sit at.

Keith knows all this and more. He says nothing, because no words will come to him. He does nothing, because there is nothing of him to give.

Lance took it all with him when he died.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm crying too‒ that last paragraph wrecked me and I'm the one who wrote it. [Tumblr](http://tessagray-herondale-carstairs.tumblr.com/)


	14. As when I wake up

Because the world hates Keith and enjoys adding insult to death, and because Allura is too distraught, Keith is chosen to deliver Lance’s remaining items to his mother’s house. Hunk had sent everything from the apartment, but no one had stopped to consider everything Lance had left in the precinct, strewn throughout the areas where he’d left his mark.

Keith hates his job and he hates the world, but this feels like… nothing. He’s dropping off packages for a friend who no longer lives in the same zip code. Fine. He follows the address and notes with particular displeasure that it’s raining.

Keith despises the rain. It forces him out of the cab and into a flat out sprint to reach the porch steps underneath a porch covering. The wind whips around him and the rain follows him and it forces him to rap on the front door sharply.

It opens and a woman who looks eerily similar to someone Keith once knew stands before him. “Can I help you?” she asks, and it is her tone of voice that jolts Keith out of his reverie.

The woman has dark brown eyes that look warm and welcoming despite the puffiness of the surrounding area, and Keith suddenly has no doubt that if he had come at any other time, this woman would offer him lemonade and a seat on the couch.

But because he’s Keith and the world hates him, he comes at this particular time, and the woman is hurt.

He opens his mouth. “I have packages,” he says quickly. “They’re from Hunk Garrett.”

The woman eyes him suspiciously but takes the boxes from him and kneels on the ground to open the first one hesitantly. Keith feels like he should leave, but also that this is a moment he needs to be there for. He has no idea why, just that he should. The woman doesn’t tell him to leave, and so he doesn’t.

The woman’s eyes widen at the contents of the box and immediately overflow with tears. “Lance,” she whispers, and Keith’s heart clenches. His head swims and he grips the porch railing for steadiness. The woman lurches up and grips Keith’s shoulder tightly. “Who are you?” she demands, shaking his shoulder. “What is your name?”

“Keith,” he says, mumbling his words, not quite following her train of thought. His mind is swimming in incoherency and bright blue eyes.

“Keith? Lance's Keith?” she asks and Keith nods.

She grips his other shoulder and pulls him into a tight hug. “He never shut up about you,” she tells him, her arms squeezing and holding him close. “He complained about you every time he called home!”

She lets go and Keith stares in amazement, not moving.

“Won’t you come in?” she asks, tears shining in her eyes but not yet spilling. “Please, won’t you come in and tell me all about you and Lance? He loved you, you know.”

Keith’s heart cracks and his dam breaks down, and for the first time in a long time, he finds the words he’s been dying to say.

* * *

Sometime later, Keith is in the living room and Lance’s mother is putting his stuff away while quietly crying. Keith can’t blame her. He knows he should be feeling something, but all he feels is distant and removed, like he’s detached from his head and only controls the barest of motor functions.

He stands and goes to look at all of the trinkets on her mantle, countertops, and entertainment center. It’s not a surprise that all of the photos are her children‒ the siblings Lance loved, the youngest one with the eyes that are so different but the warmth in them all the same anyway. But the vast majority of them are of Lance, his blue eyes shining and the photo quality obviously from an iPhone, simply printed out and put on display. And a lot of them are from the precinct, pictures of Hunk and Lance drinking Boba, a picture of Pidge flipping Lance off, Shiro and Lance cheesing at the camera, a picture of Shiro and Allura talking closely with Lance smirking in the corner of it, just barely visible.

“Are these… are these…” Keith can’t find the words, but it’s okay because Lance’s mom didn’t hear him anyway. He moves to the entertainment center, where even more of the pictures abound, but it’s different because… because… Keith himself is in the pictures.

He doesn’t remember taking any pictures with them, but it’s Lance over and over, photobombing Keith and Hunk talking, Keith laughing with Shiro, Pidge and Lance smirking at Keith intently studying the case file‒ from Snapchat, he notices, because a caption reads: _look at this huge nerd, Mom,_ and another: _can you believe his hair??_ ‒ and he needs to take a second to breathe because _what the fuck_. What the fuck what the fuck what the fuck, he thinks, and his chest tightens and his minds whirls and swirls and twirls and it’s like everything is happening all over again, the first time he saw Lance, the first time they spoke, the first time they went over the case together, the first time they kissed, the first time he wanted to _keep_ kissing.

Keith stumbles backwards into an ottoman.

“Are you alright?” Lance’s mom asks, her eyes puffy but full of concern.

Keith feels trapped. “Wh-where did these pictures come from? Why did you print them?”

She follows his gaze and understands immediately. “Lance sends me‒ _used_ to send me pictures all the time.” Her voice breaks as she changes her tense and Keith feels incredibly guilty. He could’ve done more for Lance, he knows. Could’ve been better for him.

“Why did you print these?” he says again, gesturing to the ones of him. Some of them are blurry, with ridiculous captions, and he doesn’t understand why anyone would want those for permanence, let alone for the 10 second max Snapchat lets you have.

“Pictures aren’t always about the subject,” Lance’s mom says. “Sometimes the best pictures are from the feeling the person behind the lens has put into them. Or in my son’s case, in a corner of the lens.”

Keith can’t move, and he can barely breathe.

* * *

A long conversation later, the two of them are standing in front of the ocean, feet buried in the beach sand, and Keith is giving Lance’s mom the most serious look he’s had in a long time.

He frowns. “Are you sure?” he asks again. “That’s… that’s your son.”

Lance’s mom shakes her head. “My son loved the ocean. I am sure it loved him too, or it could have taken him from me many times. This is where he will be for me, and for you,” she says, touching her hand to her heart and then gesturing to Keith's, “and this is where he will be for the world.” She opens the jar and shakes it over the ocean lightly, watching as the waves lap over her feet gently, each one a kiss that seems to say goodbye the further and further it goes.

She turns to Keith, tears glittering in her eyes. “My son is…” She stops, freezes in place for a moment, and Keith can relate to the feeling of misplaced words and choking on them instead, “he _was_ the tide. No matter how far he roamed, he always came back to me. This way he can still come back to me. Always.”

Keith looks away, ashamed of the way the tears burn in his eyes, the lump forming in his throat. A hand nudges his, and he opens his palm, linking his fingers with Lance’s mother’s and watching the waves come inexorably closer to them, a steady beat that sounds suspiciously like the heart of a boy they once knew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end. Holy shit, you guys. I'm so so so grateful for this big bang and all of your support and comments and kudos and I'm just... so fucking emotional about this. I love you guys so much, and I'm sorry if I broke your hearts in the process.
> 
> Follow me on [Tumblr](http://tessagray-herondale-carstairs.tumblr.com/) and let me break ur heart with more hcs about this au. I love it so much I might do some oneshots of it, because there's so much more I wanted to expand on that never made it in here.


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